


Who Cares When You are Gone

by EverythingNarrative



Series: World War Etheria [4]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: AU, Alcohol, Canon Rewrite, Gen, Language, Logistics, Magic and Science, Military, Nobledark, Permanent Injury, Psychological Trauma, Smoking, War, Worldbuilding, rational
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 84,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27511408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverythingNarrative/pseuds/EverythingNarrative
Summary: Adora tries to prevent calamity.Catra causes it unwittingly.In the aftermath, the war turns ugly.And then it gets worse.Home is not where you live, but —
Relationships: Adora & Bow & Glimmer (She-Ra), Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Adora/Glimmer (She-Ra), Angella/Micah (She-Ra), Catra & Hordak (She-Ra), Catra/Scorpia (She-Ra), Entrapta/Hordak (She-Ra), Huntara/Melissa (She-Ra), Netossa/Spinnerella (She-Ra)
Series: World War Etheria [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923616
Comments: 44
Kudos: 77





	1. Daring Reprise, Planned Bold

**Author's Note:**

> CW: This work contains written scenes describing a similar level of violence to what is seen in movies such as Saving Private Ryan, Dunkirk, 1917, Letters from Iwo Jima, Flags of Our Fathers; and TV shows such as Band of Brothers, and Pacific. It also contains similar levels of swearing.

Bow takes the speeder up northeast to the Ash Corridor, and returns later that evening with Netossa, Spinnerella, and surprisingly: Frosta.

Perfuma is at or near her home in Plumeria, roughly in the center of the southern enclave of what was once the Whispering woods, so a simple letter through the waygate suffices.

Mermista will show up two days later, having carried her Royal Yacht home to Salineas at ten times the pace the ship can make itself; taking a day to rest, and then arriving by waygate as well.

The answer from the Enchanted Grotto never comes. The answer from Apieria however, comes immediately. Peekablue will not be joining them; he is busy assisting his wife in heaven knows what. Glimmer is perhaps a bit more relieved than she should be.

In the Hidden Library, the verdict is clear. Adora — or at least the Aegis of Power — is in Capital in the Fright Zone.

* * *

Waiting for reinforcements, Glimmer has to come up with a plan of action; she’s no slouch, but she’s no Adora.

She spends the time walking through the corridors of the castle, pondering the operation at hand. There’s a few pieces missing from her puzzle. Conveyance to the Fright Zone for instance.

The obvious one is out: the Waygate chamber in the Fright Zone has been put under a suppression field, there is no blinking there through the tiny portal the gate will make under her touch.

Going by air is out as well, given the mounting aerial presence of the Horde, and how much their air combat capabilities are improving in the face of Netossa, Spinnerella, and that one flying attack-mountain of Mystacor’s.

By the water-way the same way Adora did to rescue her is too slow: if there is one thing Glimmer is _not_ about to do, it is to leave Adora to endure the kinds of tortures she did.

She goes over several more ideas before returning to that. She doesn’t need to come up with a plan on her own.

“Princess?”

A servant.

“Your mother, her Majesty the Queen requests that you join her for tea.”

* * *

They take tea on the roof; a privilege of privacy to those with the innate ability to fly. A picnic basket between the two of them, with meat pie, pastries, fruit, and wine. Tea in name only.

“Gods below, this is the first break I’ve had from this wretched war in months,” Angella says as soon as they are settled.

“At least you fight it from your office,” Glimmer notes dryly.

“I heard Adora had been captured. I don’t mean to make light of that. Whatever help you need, I will make time.”

“Thanks, mom.”

Glimmer pours them each a cup of wine.

“I miss it.” Angella says. “What war is like in the field, I mean. I would take sitting on my arse for weeks interspersed with the occasional risk of death over paperwork every day of the week and twice on Sundays.”

Glimmer giggles. “Is it that bad?”

“Government is the art of compromise, which is another way of saying nobody is ever entirely pleased with the state of things.” She takes a deep swig of her cup. “So please, I’ve heard bits and pieces. Fill your mother in on the details of our missing Champion.”

Glimmer exhales. “Okay, where to start? Bow and some Mystacor sorcerers have been building a device out in the woods, in the Hidden Library; a tracking spell-array. It can track every piece of First-Ones’ technology — and several other things — in real time, all over Etheria.”

“I’ve heard.”

"So, according to Adora’s grandmother Razz, her mother Mara, the previous She-Ra, had a spacecraft — which is like a ship that can fly — and it is hidden _somewhere_ on Etheria, and is full of potentially important messages to Adora from her mother and predecessor.

“So we found two candidates with Bow’s tracker, and went to investigate; small-team operations. One was in the Northern Reach, and turned out not to be the spacecraft. But the Horde was there, and a skirmish broke out. The enemy commander, a feliform name of Catra whom Adora has some previous relation to, used some kind of weapon to compromise She-Ra.”

“Oh dear.”

“I’ll spare you the details, but it was horrific and worrying on many levels. So now our search had an extra purpose: if anyone knows something about how She-Ra could be compromised, you’d think it’d be the previous one. So we went to the Crimson Wastes, and found it there, but unfortunately that Catra character was there as well and foiled our operation, capturing myself, Bow, and Juliet.”

“And then Adora traded herself for your freedom.”

“Exactly. However, she’s in the Fright Zone now, and I need to mount a rescue operation.”

Angella cuts the pie and plates Glimmer, then herself a slice each. “Anything else of note?”

“She-Ra’s shapeshifting weapon is apparently capable of turning into an Obtainer. I don’t know what that implies.”

“Nothing good,” Angella notes.

“Also the Horde managed to escape with the artifact in the Norther Reach. Reports from the Library indicates they are somehow using it to _build_ First-Ones’ tech near Capital.”

Angella frowns. “That is _very_ worrying.”

“There’s also two Runestones unaccounted for. One on a place called ‘Beast Island’ which is apparently incredibly dangerous. The other is in the Crimson Wastes. Our guide into the desert, an orc by the name Huntara — she was the reason we were captured: she turned against us. Afterwards, when we were left for dead, she went into the desert to find it. Claims it has been calling her for her entire life.”

Angella ponders this for a long while.

“What credence do you give to this? I can’t help but think this Huntara character aims to become a Runestone Wielder. Is she untrustworthy?”

“Time will tell,” Glimmer says. “She turned against us on count of a hostage held against her… One one hand, if this was a story, she would obviously be destined to succeed. But this is the real world; she might already have died in the desert.”

“Hm.”

Glimmer finishes her pie. “How goes the war effort?”

“Within budget; barely. We’ll have to raise taxes, perhaps even impose rationing on the subjects. Militarily we are making good progress; the Horde is losing ground they gained during their last expansion campaign; both to the west and the east. Virtually all of Etheria is united against them.”

“That’s good. Serves them right.”

* * *

In a flash of light, Glimmer arrives in the dungeon, ready to continue her plan. The guards posted outside the large cell stand at rapt attention. Glimmer nods to them and proceeds to open the door.

“Princess. To what do I owe the honor? I was beginning to wonder if my usefulness had expired; but you arrive right as I expected.” Shadow Weaver rises from her recliner, putting aside the book she has been reading.

The cell’s walls, ceiling and floor are inlaid with magical diagrams. Hundreds of them. There will be no spellcasting of any kind in here.

“You knew I was coming?”

"I know you have been on secret missions related to my intel for the past two months; and just recently returned. Your Aunt let that much slip. If you were going to come here at all, now would be about time.

“Adora has been captured and transported back to the fright zone; willingly. We need to rescue her.”

“Have you considered why she would go willingly?”

Glimmer has. Bow too. Whatever Adora did on the Swift Wind, it did not involve reviewing any documents, and the system does not allow them to view the personal message which was the only thing she accessed. Whatever it was, it must have been very informative.

The short free time Glimmer did have, she spent browsing through the encyclopedic works of technical writing the ship carries, trying to glean what the off-world Horde might be like — no data. This led her to some internal memos about the ‘Despondos’ project, which were incredibly cryptic and almost all authored by someone named Serenia.

The warnings attached in the conclusion sections were rather easier to read: it would not be normally possible to open a portal to the wider universe, and attempting to do so would risk cataclysm of some unspecific kind. An ‘XK-Class’ event.

“I think she’s going to try to caution Hordak from opening a portal.”

“Novel. On what grounds? As far as I know, he is set on that goal.”

“It _might_ be that opening a portal could cause widespread destruction of some kind. I don’t have all the details.”

“Where did you learn this?”

“That is not for you to know.”

“Fair enough. And worrying; though perhaps not overly so. Hordak is smart and patient, even in the face of impending loss. If his investigations independently confirm this finding of yours, he will heed all possible caution. He, for one, does not wish to rule a pile of ash. So what would you ask of me?”

“We need to get to Capital, and quickly; and once there, to find Adora.”

“Ah. My old stomping grounds. A suggestion, princess: bring me along,” Shadow Weaver says.

“What, so you can slip away and re-join the Horde?” Glimmer says.

“I shall remind you that you are not familiar with Hordak’s character; and I am. That man holds a grudge the way other people hold on to life itself. I have willfully betrayed him. He would have me flayed alive to make an example, if I ever came crawling back to him, no matter what choice prisoners I might be able to bring him.”

Glimmer ponders this.

“As for transportation, have you considered the waygate that resides in Capital? I hear that even without the approval of two Runestone wielders, a narrow portal can be made, for sending messages. Perhaps you could bridge the gap with your teleportation ability?”

“I already thought of that. The whole chamber is screened off from my powers.”

“Ah. It may be screened off from Runestone-related abilities, but I should be able to make a short-range teleportation spell that borrows your abilities without _actually_ being a Runestone power; like a disguise.”

“Get started on that, then,” Glimmer says. “I’ll expect real progress by tomorrow.”

* * *

“Catra, can we talk?” Scorpia says quietly — as quietly as she can over the engine noise.

“Not in front of her, we can’t,” Scorpia says, gesturing to Adora sitting at the end of the seat row opposite them, hands bound.

And so the plane ride continues in silence. Scorpia fidgets, Catra scowls, Adora makes little noises that are drowned out by the engines, and bounces her leg.

After an agonizing eternity, the pilot informs them they are about to land.

They hit Horde territorial waters just a little before noon. A twenty-five foot motor boat is there to take them ashore, crewed by Lonnie.

Lonnie wordlessly hands Catra a hat, dark glasses, and a scarf. Catra covers up. She’s a wanted criminal here.

“Say,” Lonnie says, turning to Adora. “Don’t I know you? You bear a striking resemblance to a team leader I once had who decided to defect like a dirty traitor.”

“Screw you Lonnie,” Adora says. “You’ve always had moral backbone like a slimy eel.”

“Both of you shut the fuck up,” Catra says, humorlessly and with suffocating malice. “Lonnie. Drive the damn boat.” Then she turns abruptly and goes to stand at the bow.

Adora goes to the stern.

“What’s with your girlfriend, Lieutenant?” Lonnie says.

“I wish I knew,” Scorpia says. “And I wish I could help.”

“How did you manage to bag She-Ra?”

“She came willingly, in a hostage exchange.”

Lonnie takes them to a small pier by an empty beach, and from there to a van without windows.

Scorpia takes the passenger-side seat; Lonnie drives. It’s a three hour drive on semi-busy highways to Capital, but they are taking smaller roads. They stop at a gas tank for gas and a toilet break; the manager sleeps through their entire visit, and Scorpia pays the amount exact, the rounds up with the tip.

It’s almost evening when they reach the industrial zone, that holds what has become the Advanced Manufacturing Division’s headquarters, and the ground-zero for the _Project Connexion,_ a joint venture with the Portal Physics Division.

Lonnie’s ID gets them through the gates, and a special services captain directs them to Chancellor Hordak’s location. She parks the van by an unassuming industrial building, and checks that the coast is clear before letting Catra and Adora out of the suffocating confines of the transport.

They head inside through a side-entrance, and Adora beholds something chilling.

Rows and rows of First-Ones’ machinery. Large square bases, holding circular platforms, upon which spidery appendages build… Things. Next to each platform, a large hopper-attachment full of metal stock, scrap wood, and sand. Fat cables litter the floor, connecting all these machines to a keystone piece: an enormous squat cylindrical device.

The one they stole in the Norther Reach.

And there’s two identical ones sitting right next to it.

In the corner, a team of work-men is building another of the manufacturing platforms.

And in the center of it, is Hordak. Walking down the aisles between the machines in a fine suit with long coat-tails, surrounded by an entourage of chief engineers and stateswomen.

Scorpia goes forward. “Supreme Chancellor Hordak, sir!”

The crowd around him stills. “Ah, Lieutenant Scorpia. What might I help you with?”

Scorpia comes closer, but is stopped by two special services officers in black uniforms bearing only the red Horde insignia on the chest.

“Well, it’s a… Sensitive matter, concerning some Irst-fay Nes-oy Echnology-tay.”

Hordak’s thin smile fades. “Ladies and gentlemen, I must bid you farewell; this is a matter that I must discuss in confidence.”

The group of lab-coat-wearing engineers and stateswomen in formal-wear disperse.

Hordak follows Scorpia back to the corner where the others are holed up.

“Catra. Why am I not surprised you survived.”

Catra unravels the scarf covering her mouth. “You might also recognize this one, Chancellor.”

“I do indeed. Adora, was it? She-Ra.”

“Chancellor,” Adora says, standing straight.

“I take it you assumed I would be amused by this; that you would be allowed to substitute capturing the object of your obsessions, with bringing me the First-Ones tech I sent you after. No matter. The firing squad will see to you soon enough.”

Hordak turns on one heel and begins to walk away.

“It’s a spacecraft,” Catra says. “ _Hers._ ”

Hordak turns back to face her. “Elaborate.”

“Well technically it belonged to Adora’s mother, who happens to have been the previous She-Ra who lived over a thousand years ago — don’t ask me how that works.”

Hordak steps closer and looks at Adora. “Is this true?”

“Would you believe she’s lying?” Adora asks.

“I would not. Not when you are so obviously, and she so obviously not. I am a student of the face; and it’s many petite betrayals of emotion,” Hordak says. “What is the capabilities of this spacecraft?”

“Primarily its ability to be buried in the desert, unfortunately,” Catra says. “So academic curiosity, not strategic asset.”

“Chancellor, can I speak with you?” Adora bursts out. “I need you to stop building your portal.”

“No, and not a chance. Good work Catra, I’ll get the charges against you waived immediately; you’re reinstated in my wife’s security detail if you want the position.” He gestures to Adora. “Throw this nuisance in a cell somewhere, and make sure she doesn’t escape.”

Then he turns and walks away.

“Chancellor, you need to _listen to me!_ ” Adora yells after him.

He doesn’t even turn to look.

“So, now you’ve met the Chancellor,” Catra says. “Swell guy, don’t you think?”

From a pocket, she draws her Major insignia, and affixes it to the breast of her desert coat, then draws her revolver and points it at Adora. “Well, you heard the Chancellor.”

Adora glares back.

* * *

Hordak, meanwhile, takes the moment of reprieve to slip away to building four; the experimentation floor. The replicator hall is a neat and orderly affair, this is not.

The centerpiece of the room is the frame holding the bracket attachments for the portal sections. The initial circular design has been scrapped — the frame repurposes and re-welded in horrible amalgamation — for a tetrahedrally oriented set of four stabilization modules.

“Hello Hor-hor!” Entrapta calls out, without even looking directly at him. She’s bent over the huge array of cobbled-together data-processing machinery, purpose built for the task of designing original replicator pattern templates.

Hordak goes up to her. Her hair does that curling thing it does when he’s near, and the four arms on her back harness undulate idly. “Hello, Entrapta. How goes the portal?”

Her face contracts in annoyance. “On a technical level, it works splendidly. Our technological understanding of the task at hand is solid, and the conceptual prototype can readily open local portals. However… There’s a complication.”

“How so?”

“I think it’s a topological defect of our pocket of spacetime. Or maybe an unusual boundary condition. Or space weather outside of Etheria’s space-bubble — is there such a thing? It’s surmountable; but we’ll need to scale up energy consumption.”

“By how much.”

“Ah…” One of her arms lunge for a drawing board, and she flips the pages with her hair. “By a factor of six thousand.”

Hordak growls, and resists the urge to punch something.

“Look, I need more time to study this; but I’m convinced it is a surmountable obstacle. I just need to find the solution. I have some ideas already, and if the numbers are correct we can use the Black Garnet to reduce the energy requirement, but we’ll have to dismantle the current equipment that keeps the Whispering Woods from reforming.”

“That battlefield is lost to us anyway; you have my go-ahead to retire that project.” Hordak says. “Catra has captured She-Ra, and her shape-shifting weapon. You finally have an opportunity to study it.”

Entrapta perks up. “That sounds _wonderful._ ” She grabs a thick calendar book. “I might take the rest of the day off to do that. I need some R&R.”

Hordak leans in and kisses her on the cheek. “I meanwhile, need to wrestle with some bureaucracy. The industrial magnates are not happy with my plans to supply the military using fabricators.”

“Why?” Entrapta asks.

“Because it means they will not make any money. And they like making money.”

“Oh, right. Money. That thing which shifts material wealth in time for the purpose of trade, and which acts like a de-facto proxy for status.”

Hordak smiles. Quoted from his treatises on economics. She takes off her gloves and visor, then flags down one of her servants, communicating with a single gesture to begin preparations for leisure time.

* * *

Adora gets handed off to a team of six armed guards, brandishing small rifles. She’s led to a small cell with a bed, a latrine, a sink, and no privacy. Here, one of the female security officers strips her down, and gives her a standard-issue inmate uniform to wear.

Light Hope’s arsenal is bound to run out of weapons at this rate, with how often she loses all of them.

The door closes, and she is left alone.

Adora takes a seat down on the bed, and hits her head against the wall. “Good job, Adora. Good plan. What now?”

What now indeed. Boredom, probably.

She begins scouring her cell for anything loose that can be ground into a shiv. There’s a loose screw in the frame of the bed, which won’t budge for her efforts.

Adora ambles over to the bars and looks in either direction down the hall. Nobody.

She transforms into She-Ra, and takes her enhanced strength to the screw, which finally budges.

“Hello. You’re very tall.”

Adora spins around to see the Princess Entrapta; Chancellor Hordak’s wife. She’s a middle-aged woman with long purple hair tied in several ponytails and braids seemingly in haphazard fashion. She is wearing a clean coverall with the buttons undone a fair length down her chest — enough to generously show off her undershirt — and cuffs rolled up.

She sets down a suppressor, aimed into the cell, then takes out the metal pouch that houses the Aegis.

“I like this weapon of yours; it’s the most advanced First-Ones’ tech I’ve ever seen —” she opens the pouch and takes out the ring, holding it with a hand and pointing with her her “— for instance, this is a miniaturized Runestone, which explains why ARW-equipment works on you and it. The metal here is also unusual; I haven’t been able to take a sample of it because it moves out of the way of or directly attacks my tools.”

“Okay?” Adora says.

“Can you tell me how it works?” There is only earnest excitement and wonder on Entrapta’s face.

Adora takes a moment to think up an impromptu manual of arms. “Uh, I control it with my mind? Like, I wish for a weapon, or even a tool or a vehicle, and then it becomes one. Sometimes I request a specific type of gun, or even a specific model, other times I just specify the problem I need to solve, and it supplies the ordnance. It’s called the Aegis of Power. Oh, and I can call it to me if I lose it.”

“Fascinating! Intentionality-controlled to such an advanced extent? Tell me more!”

“There’s not a whole lot more to it. Um, one time it was corrupted by a First-Ones virus and turned into something called an ‘Obtainer’ but I don’t know if that is relevant.”

“Yes, I remember, I was present,” Entrapta says earnestly.

“Oh, right. And also, I can use it to change She-Ra’s appearance and body-shape.”

“What a fascinating additional use! Anything else?”

“That’s about it.”

“Thank you! This has been very informative!” she says. “Oh, wait a moment. Did you lie about anything, or omit anything in your description? Catra said you might do that.”

“Uh…” Adora ponders for a moment if this woman is stupid or just incredibly naïve. “No?”

“Great! Thanks! I’ll probably be back soon with more questions!”

She runs off, leaving Adora bewildered.

* * *

Glimmer lies in her bed in the Princess’ suite, and stares at the ceiling. Now of all times, she really misses Adora next to her; not that they have had many opportunities to co-sleep, but it has been nice every time.

There’s a knock on the door, and she gets out of bed, throwing on a robe and phasing her wings through it.

Opening the door reveals her mother with an oil lamp. “Glimmer, may I come in?”

“Mom? Of course. What can I do for you?”

Angella steps inside, and closes the door behind her, casting a glance into the hall to ensure there are no eavesdroppers.

“Glimmer, I heard you went to talk to Shadow Weaver; can I inquire what about?”

“She’s assisting me with the rescue operation,” Glimmer says.

Angella groans. “Listen to me, daughter, that woman is beyond dangerous. Whatever she is doing for you, I beg of you to reconsider and seek help elsewhere. The entirety of the Kingdom is at your disposal; I meant it when I said I would help.”

“I need her because she knows the Fright Zone, for her sorcery, and for her intimate knowledge of the most potent weapon the Horde uses against me: those devices that suppress Runestone abilities,” Glimmer says. “Find me someone who can do each of those three things, an I will happily leave her to rot in the dungeon.”

Angella sighs. “Fine. Sleep well.”

“And to you.”


	2. Powerful, Powerless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: violent abduction

They meet in a small conference room, and Glimmer banishes the servant staff just as soon as the last refreshments are served.

“Mermista, thank you for taking time out of your vacation to help us,” Glimmer says.

“As I said, for Adora, anything,” Mermista says.

“Frosta, you as well, I hear you were heading away from the front,” Glimmer says.

“Cousin,” Frosta says, “you asked me if I wanted to partake in _another_ heist deep in enemy territory? Do you think I would ever pass up an opportunity like that?!”

Glimmer smiles. “Let’s hope this all turns out well; Perfuma, thank you. I know Plumeria is finally seeing some peace what with the front moving east, away from the hills beyond the Whispering Woods.”

“It is exactly that peace which lets me help where it really matters, Glimmer,” Perfuma says.

“And Netossa, I know you are duty-bound to my Mother’s service, but I am not my mother.”

“Glimmer, please!” Netossa says. “You’re being so formal, there is really no need.”

“Spinnerella—”

“You’re welcome, Glimmer, really. Enough now.”

Glimmer sighs.

“Hey,” Bow says. “What does that make me and Juliet? Chopped liver?” Juliet elbows him in the side.

Glimmer snickers. “Listen, what we’re about to do is incredibly dangerous, and I literally couldn’t find anyone willing to do it other than you.”

“Do tell,” Netossa says.

“We’re going to rescue Adora. During our recent excursion to the Crimson Wastes, Adora gave herself up in a hostage exchange for myself, Bow, and Juliet to go free. She is in the Fright Zone now, in Capital.”

“Please don’t tell me we’re going by a sawdust boat again,” Mermista says.

“We’re not. Allow me to introduce the ninth member of our team.”

Glimmer vanishes in a puff of light, and then shortly after returns with an older woman in tow. Tall, obvious elfish features, scars adorning the visible portion of her face; mouth covered by a veil.

Netossa freezes, then jumps out of her seat, onto the table, throwing two dozen tethers around Shadow Weaver. “Glimmer, get away from her!”

“Netossa what in the _world_ are you doing?” Spinnerella says.

“That woman is Light Spinner, the most wanted criminal in Mystacor. She’s wanted for proliferation of dark magic, involving others in ritual casting without informed consent, and double murder, six counts of magical assault, giving magical secrets to the enemy, and high treason.”

“Netossa, _stand down,_ ” Glimmer says.

“But.”

Glimmer holds out a hand, and in it materializes her father’s staff. She brings it down on the floor with a thunderous boom. “Netossa you are _in the house of Brightmoon_ and _I am its princess!_ You will _stand down!_ ” she yells.

The tethers dissolve.

“Now _sit,_ and _listen._ ”

Netossa does.

“Shadow Weaver, formerly known as Light Spinner, is our prisoner,” Glimmer says. “Per a _secret agreement_ made with _your Queen_ —” she glares at Netossa “— she has been giving us valuable intel in exchange for creature comforts. As part of said agreement, once her usefulness comes to an end, she will be given over to Mystacor for prosecution.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Shadow Weaver says. “It is an honor to meet the wielder of the Fractal—”

Glimmer points her staff at Shadow Weaver. “You. Shut up.”

“Yes Princess.”

“Now,” Glimmer continues. “Shadow Weaver, you made a breakthrough yesterday. Please explain.”

“Thank you, Princess. I have devised a ritual by which we can achieve teleportation. This is significant because our destination is under spell that prevents Princess Glimmer from using her Runestone’s might to achieve the same effect.”

“Well put,” Glimmer says. “Our destination is one most of you are familiar with: the Fight Zone waygate. This will be our point of entry into enemy territory. From there we will make our way to Adora, and we shall then use another spell which I will cast, to enhance my teleportation range, to teleport back to Brightmoon.”

“Great, so where is Adora?” Netossa asks.

“She’s right where I was when you came to get me,” Glimmer says. “Bow?”

Bow stands. “Right. Yesterday we detected that the Aegis of Power had been moved to Capital. I made contact with Prince Peekablue, and negotiated a rather costly reading that confirms Adora followed. She’s being held basically where I was when you came to get me.”

* * *

“Hey Adora,” Catra says.

“Urgh! Finally!” Adora yells, leaping from the bed, and transforming into She-Ra in the same movement.

“What?” Catra says.

In an eyeblink She-Ra is on the bars. “I’ve been stuck here for two days! _Two days, Catra!_ Without so much as a book to read!”

The walls of the cell is covered in carvings in the surface of the concrete. There’s First-Ones’ glyphs — the intricate and calligraphic kind, and the straight-line based regular writing. There’s spiraling doodles. There’s a three-point vanishing perspective drawing of a cube, with food stains to indicate that she used a food tray for a ruler. There’s portrait drawings. One of them of the guardsman standing next to the cell, drawn from live reference.

The rest from memory. Princess Glimmer. The ranger guy. A baby.

The largest one is of Catra. A flattering piece in semi-profile, capturing the line of her jaw in the way she likes looking at it in the mirror.

“Seems like you’ve been busying yourself. Did you make a shiv?”

She-Ra reverts to Adora. “I found a loose screw on the bed frame.” She shows her hands, raw from scratching the hard concrete with the small screw.

“Well, enough of this foolishness, you’re being transferred.”

“Can I know where?”

“To Capital. Entrapta figured out how to open the portal.”

 _Oh no._ Adora thinks.

Catra waves over three armed special services officers, and they escort Adora out of the building into a waiting van.

Catra jogs over to the closest office building, a small squat thing of wood, and finds in the engineers’ workroom, a large sheet of paper, a cardboard tube, quick-drying clear lacquer, and sketching graphite.

She returns to the cell and copies her portrait onto paper, lacquering it to seal the artwork.

Once she’s convinced it is dry, she rolls it up, stashes it in the tube, and goes to find a messenger to deliver it to her office. Only then does she go to the motor pool and find a ride into town.

* * *

Adora doesn’t get a reprieve from captivity in any meaningful way. The van has no windows, but from the sounds of traffic outside, she can gauge how far into the city they have gotten.

This is the city she grew up in, but it doesn’t feel like it. It was all time spent in orphanages, in evening-care institutions, with shitty host families. She went to half a dozen different schools until the military youth academy. Catra lived here, in the streets, for a year at ages six to seven. Ran away from… Something.

An orphanage, probably. There were good and bad ones, but Adora never felt the brunt of the bad ones. Shadow Weaver saw to it with bribes and threats, that her precious little perfect soldier was never sent to bed without food.

The van stops, and the doors open. Adora steps out into a light drizzle. She looks up the facade of the ominous Sorcery Division headquarters, and sees a tented construction scaffold crown the roof. Several small cranes hang out over the edge of the roof.

One of the officers pushes her ahead. It’s familiar, both as a place of childhood horrors, and as a recent battleground.

The head to the elevator, going up. A few floors below the roof, they stop, and lead her around the square hallway to… The same damn medical examination room they held Bow in.

“You guys are just asking for it at this point,” Adora says.

* * *

The construction project has proceeded with all undue haste possible.

Entrapta discovered the lynchpin to their problems, as Hordak always knew she would; and as fortune would have it, by studying She-Ra’s weapon. If her earnest ways weren’t so damn charming, he might still adore her just as much for her mastery of technology.

The trick is to use _two_ Runestones working in concert as a lens for portal energy. This is what necessitates the venue, and She-Ra’s weapon being a Runestone saves him the trouble of conquering, say, the Enchanted Grotto, and figuring out how to move the Hyperlens to Capital.

He is _very_ impressed with the work. Not that Entrapta’s feats of engineering aren’t always impressive, but Catra and Scorpia’s intervention as task masters have proven extremely effective.

Barring the feliform’s personal issues, she is an undeniably valuable asset.

Taking down the portal engine was easy, as Entrapta designed it to be modular for transportation. Transporting it into the city required blocking off several highways and streets to move the delicate components; The Lieutenant negotiated that with civilian police forces without ruffling any feathers too badly.

Then there was the weather report: rain. And the plain fact that no space inside the Sorcery Division would fit the engine, so they had to put it on the roof.

Catra went out and hired the largest construction firm in town, paying them exorbitant sums to put a scaffolding crew to work around the clock. She hasn’t had a wink of sleep since the project began, and yet no loss of focus can bee seen on her.

Which is important because they are risking everything here. The locale is one the rebel Princesses already once penetrated with a covert operation. They have taken every precaution with regards to deploying countermeasures against Runestone Wielders, but those could very well be circumvented.

They have evacuated the civilians just in case.

Especially if Shadow Weaver really is working with the rebels in Brightmoon now. Hordak is not a man of many regrets, but he does regret mishandling her. She was a useful asset, and he gave her too much independence. He regrets not following up on her escape, and he regrets — on an emotion level only — not strangling Catra when it was appropriate to do so, for putting Shadow Weaver in the hands of the enemy.

Now. Only now, he stands on the cusp of a century’s efforts. First, to lift this backwater world into useful industry, then to cure his own ailments. And now, to send word out. That just leaves the small matter of conquering Etheria.

He smiles at the thought of using the First-Ones’ technology against their own descendants.

Big brother will be proud.

* * *

This time, thankfully, there’s both a shower and some magazines to read. Medical journals, and written annoyingly small; letters crawling over the page like ants. Still, it beats boredom or drawing on the walls — which she does, still, this time with a pen.

The door unlocks. “Hello!”

Adora looks over to see Entrapta. Dressed in heavy-duty overalls, seemingly only with a thin blouse underneath; four strong tentacle arms strapped to her back, powered load-bearing exoskeleton adorning her legs, and her prehensile purple hair to finish the look.

“So, we’re nearing the final phase, and I need you to be present. We need to lower the suppression field on your Runestone, and therefore we need to suppress you instead; however we also might need to lower that suppression at some point.”

“Entrapta, you need to stop this.”

Entrapta stops moving. “Why? We’re so close to completion, and the data alone will be able to narrow the search for a unified portal theory to basically one correct model. It’ll be wonderful!”

Adora’s desperation rises. She has to reveal her hand now. “Entrapta listen to me, there is an obstacle you haven’t accounted for.”

“Oh?”

“I know this because I spoke with the creator of the whole spacetime bubble — is that what it’s called? — thing you are trying to portal out of.”

Adora takes the pen and re-draws the diagram Mara drew, on the wall. Sola and Etheria represented by small circles, the bubble represented by a large one around both.

“This is what you think it’s like, right? Sola, Ehteria, the bubble, and the wider universe.”

“Yes.”

Adora draws another circle around it. “This is how it actually is.”

Entrapta considers it. “Two layers isn’t going to prove to be a problem. The portal engine is going to detect that and keep tunnelling through to the wider universe automatically.”

Then Adora draws in the scribble between the two.

“What’s that supposed to represent?”

“Raw magic. Do you know the categorization system for ‘unreality fields’ by any chance?”

“Yes. Which category is it?”

“Eleven.”

“The scale only goes up to five.”

“Exactly.”

Entrapta rubs her chin. Her expression gradually sours. “One moment. I need to go figure something out… You’re not going to try to escape while I’m gone, are you? I might need to ask you some follow-up questions.”

“Uh…” Adora says. “No?”

“Great!”

She runs out the door.

* * *

“Where is Entrapta?” Hordak asks, checking his pocket watch. “We’re nearing the deadline.”

“Last I heard she went over to the Portal Physics Division,” Catra says. “Scorpia is with her.”

“Go remind her gently of the time tables. If she needs more time, we can delay, but then she needs to request it.”

Catra salutes Hordak and heads to the stairwell.

It’s coming down now. Pouring rain.

* * *

Entrapta runs. She’s on a deadline, after all.

Traversing the stairs by her tentacles is faster than any elevator, but running with her exoskeletal legs is faster on the straights.

She bursts into the Sorcery workshop, and grabs a heavy measurement device, suitable for measuring such supposedly incredible unreality from a safe distance.

With that in hand, she heads for the stairs again.

“Whoa! Entrapta!”

Entrapta stops, and looks. It’s Lieutenant Scorpia, and two of her military staff — the security detail. “Lieutenant. I need you to help me.”

“Of course, where are we going?”

“Portal Physics Division, I need to use their spacetime mapping engine.”

Scorpia turns to her two soldiers. “Go tell Catra.”

Then she jogs up to Entrapta. “Lead the way.”

Entrapta does, making all haste, and Scorpia impressively manages to keep up.

They reach the lobby, and Scorpia is only mildly winded. Heedless of the rain, Entrapta presses on, and Entrapta speeds up on the wet streets, her boots growing spikes for extra grip.

“Wait!” Scorpia yells.

Entrapta stops, reverses, picks Scorpia up with one tentacle, and then begins running again.

“Holy shit!” Scorpia yells.

“Sorry! I know people don’t generally like to be lifted off their feet,” Entrapta yells.

“It’s okay! You’re very gentle!”

They reach the Portal Physics Division, a high-rise building much like the Sorcery Division.

Heading in and up a few floors, Entrapta leads Scorpia into a large chamber, with a large quadruple-gimbals device in the center, and an enormous amount of measuring equipment surrounding it.

She gets to work, connecting the unreality probe to the appropriate cables and sympathetic connectors.

“I need you to stand by that panel over there,” Entrapta points with her hair. “The initialization sequence has to be started there — it’s the big red throw-switch.”

“What are you going to do?”

Entrapta doesn’t answer. She runs around the room configuring devices and starting printouts, before finally reaching the back breaker panel. “I’m going to power this on, and then you need to start it!”

“Okay!”

Entrapta throws the breaker switch and the light in the room flickers briefly. “Now!”

Scorpia throws her own switch, and the gimbals immediately spin up to a blur. The hum is so intense it can be felt in ones teeth.

Entrapta runs to the readouts, inspecting graphs, reading dials. She reaches the unreality meter, and pauses.

The hum intensifies.

“ _Entrapta?!_ ” Scorpia yells.

Entrapta is shaken from her reverie, and lunges for the breaker, shutting the machine off forcefully before it tears itself apart.

Scorpia comes over. “So, did you get what you wanted?”

Entrapta jogs over the printer connected to the unreality meter. “Oh, this is bad. This is so very bad.”

“What is bad? That says category three-point-six,” Scorpia asks.

“The machine only goes up to three-point-six. The actual value is quite possibly a lot higher,” Entrapta answers.

“What value?”

They both turn and see Catra standing the doorway.

Then there’s a tremor in the building. And another. And another.

“That… That came from the basement,” Catra says.

“What do you think it was?” Scorpia asks.

“Going by the magnitude, I’d say it’s some kind of weapon,” Entrapta says.

“The ARW system guarding the Waygate down there is triply redundant,” Catra. “Let’s assume for the moment it’s the rescue operation we’ve been expecting to show up. Entrapta, you need to go. We need to open that portal _now!_ ”

“I can’t!” Entrapta says.

“What do you mean you can’t? Did I mishear the whole ‘She-Ra’s weapon makes the portal machine work’ lecture you gave?” Catra says.

“No, I mean, if we open a portal right now, it is going to spill raw magic back through, and destroy us all! Adora was right. We can’t open a portal!”

There’s another tremor.

“Adora… is _right?_ ” Catra says.

She begins laughing, then abruptly stops.

She looks away, and runs a hand through her hair. "Adora gets everything she wants. But not this time. This time _I_ am going to _win._

She turns to Entrapta. “I don’t _care_ what it takes! We are _opening that portal! Now!_ ” she yells.

Entrapta cowers. “No! I need to tell Hordak! He’ll understand!” She begins walking, and passes by Catra.

Catra plants her left fist in Entrapta’s stomach. The older woman collapses in the floor retching.

Catra blinks, realizing what she’s done. Then she works fast. With the claws on her left hand she rips the exoskeleton apart. She pulls her wig off, ripping adhesive off skin. Then she grabs a length of wire, with which she binds and gags her.

“Catra, what have you done?” Scorpia asks.

“Scorpia, I need you to dispose of her.”

“What?! I’m not going to kill her!”

“No. Send her to Beast Island.”

“No!”

Catra springs up. “Listen to me! I might have just assaulted the First Lady, but _you stood by and let it happen!_ We’re _both guilty!_ So either you help me _fix this_ so Hordak _never finds out,_ or we _both_ face the firing squad!”

Scorpia looks down at Entrapta, who looks back with pleading eyes.

“So go commandeer a plane, use that Pilot license of yours, and take her to Beast Island. That is an _order._ ”

“… Yes, Catra,” Scorpia says, and something breaks inside her.

* * *

The ritual circle has to be located directly beneath the Moonstone, so that is where Shadow Weaver gets to work, on the top floor of the sacred tower. Below them is sixteen floors of ancient masonry kept meticulously in pristine condition, full of murals depicting the history of Brightmoon.

Here, under the glow of the Runestone is nothing.

Glimmer, Bow, Juliet, Mermista, Frosta, Perfuma, Netossa, and Spinnerella. All wearing their combat gear.

Glimmer, Bow, and Juliet are all wearing First-Ones’ skintight armor suits under conventional brigandine and gambeson. Glimmer has her staff, Bow his namesake, and Juliet is carrying the _big gun_ — a long metal beam with rectangular profile, a lens at the muzzle, and a curved stock in Candilan style. Between the three of them they are carrying all the tracking equipment they might need.

Mermista is wearing scale mail, and armed with a trident that returns when thrown. Frosta is wearing brigandine, and carrying a Horde lever-action carbine. Netossa is wearing her flexible plate, and has complemented her usual rapiers with a shield. Spinnerella is carrying her trusty breech-loader, and a suit of rings. Perfuma is clad in a full-body suit of bulky, veiny plant matter, carrying a wooden spear and a satchel of seeds.

Shadow Weaver has begrudgingly accepted to be fitted with brigandine, but has declined carrying weapons.

They all stand there, waiting tensely for Shadow Weaver to finish laying the diagram — glass dust strewn with immaculate precision, by hand alone.

She straightens up. “I feel like I am on trial here. Will you shoot me if I make a mistake?”

“Eh, maybe.” Bow says.

“Hm.” Shadow Weaver says. “I am done. So lets see if you get to, Ranger.” She brushes the glass dust off her hands. “Princess Glimmer, if you will, I understand the timing will be delicate.”

“You understand correct; my mother is unfortunately unavailable to open the Waygate for us.” She steps forward into the center of the diagram, careful to avoid stepping on the delicate lines.

“Now, if the rest of you will carefully step into the outermost ring of the diagram.”

Glimmer blinks away, all the way down to the Waygate chamber, touches a pillar. “Fright Zone,” she mutters, and in her mind’s eye sees the narrow opening in space open. Then she blinks back.

There, she reaches to Shadow Weaver’s outstretched hand. Shadow Weaver gestures just before taking Glimmer’s hand, and a diagram forms in the air around their clasped hands.

Far below, in the palace proper, Angella looks up from maps and documents, surrounded by her generals, and casts a glance out the window at the sacred tower, worry churning in her stomach.

“Now perform your teleportation as usual,” Shadow Weaver says.

Glimmer does, visualizing her transfer into the Fright Zone waygate chamber on the other side of the narrow portal in the waygate vestibule below and it of course fails.

Then there’s a wave of wind, and they are surrounded by black flames.

And then, the light of the Moonstone is gone.

They are in the waygate chamber, a continent away.

“Okay, let’s move quickly,” Glimmer says. “Shadow Weaver?”

Shadow Weaver gestures in the air, conjuring a small circle, in the center of which is a glowing arrow. It swivels to point in a certain direction, at a bare wall.

Juliet swings her large gun around to shoulder it, and takes aim in the indicated direction. She squeezes the trigger and it silently fires a ray of white light, which very much _not_ silently blasts a foot-wide circular hole through the wall, with enough force to shake the building.

The arrow swivels in a different direction. Juliet takes aim and fires again. The arrow swivels, and Juliet fires.

And then They all feels their powers return.

Two soldiers round the corner of the chamber entrance and draws their sidearms. “Trespassers! Halt!”

Mermista throws her trident, Bow loosens an arrow. Two bodies hit the floor.

Two more appear shortly, guns already drawn. Frosta cooks their brains in their skulls before they even manage to aim.

“Good job,” Glimmer says. “Now let’s go. Bow?”

Perfuma grabs a handful of seeds from her satchel and tosses them on the ground where the swiftly grow into little plant critters, each with a pair of off-white thick-walled gas-sacks taking up most of their bulk; gas sacks filled with watergas and acidgas under significant pressure, separated only by a thin wall of tissue.

“This way,” Bow says, and sets out towards the very place they once entered into the Portal Physics Division from the sewers. The broken-through wall has been mended. Frosta once more embrittles the concrete by alternating freezing cold and boiling heat; after a few minutes and a few hundred cycles, Glimmer conjures the First Flame of Elm to blast the barrier away.

“Very impressive spellwork,” Shadow Weaver says. “Castaspella has taught you well.”

“I’d thank you, but I don’t trust that your compliments are in any way genuine,” Glimmer says. “Let’s go! Mermista?”

Mermista groans and stems the tide of sewage and rainwater flowing past on the other side of the hole.

Then they each duck through the opening and still-hot rubble, one after the other.

* * *

Catra and Scorpia run down the stairs, Scorpia carrying Entrapta with a bag over her head on one shoulder.

Thankfully there’s no sign of the princesses, but then Catra reasons they are going through the sewers again. How they got their intel is anybody’s guess.

The exit through the back of the building, into the parking lot. Catra grabs a motor bike, Scorpia takes a car, laying Entrapta on the back seat.

They part ways, Catra taking the short trip to the Sorcery Division headquarters, Scorpia heading to the airfield.

Catra passes by an army road blockade. “Who’s in charge here!?” she yells.

An army captain comes running. Fresh-faced city-garrison woman, who has never seen the fronts. “Ma’am?”

“Enemy contact! They are going through the sewers; their target is the Sorcery Division headquarters.”

Her eyes go wide. “What would you have me do, Major?”

“Call _everyone._ I want that building full of solders!”

With that, the captain runs for the phone tent.

Catra guns the engine and rides on through slick streets. She reaches the platoon posted in front of the Sorcery Division.

“Everyone inside!” she yells. “Fortify the building! They’ll be coming from the second sub-basement! Lonnie?!”

Lonnie comes running. “Major!”

“Go set up ARW-SP-coverage in front of the emergency sewer access in the second sub-basement.”

“Already done, ma’am.”

“Good work. Then I want you, Kyle, and Rogelio there, manning a machine gun. Booby trap the entrance, get a recoil-less rifle on it if you have time. Go! They’re in the sewers already!”

Lonnie pales a little. “Yes ma’am.”

* * *

The rain above is a mixed blessing. The stench of sewage is lessened, and the filth is diluted, but Mermista has to work harder to keep it at bay.

They reach the heavy door that provides entry into the sub-basement of the Sorcery Division building. A slab of steel, with heavy dowels locking it into a reinforced frame.

“That’ll be a problem,” Netossa says. “They probably know we’re coming.”

“Yeah,” Glimmer says, “I have no intention of blinking on the other side of this. Frosta? Weaken the stone around it.”

Frosta gets to work, causing rapid erosion. She rubs her eyes which are beginning to hurt from the strain of using her powers.

“Netossa, rip the frame from the wall,” Glimmer orders.

They all retreat to a safe distance.

Netossa flexes her hands, and glowing unbreakable tethers form, snaking their way into the tiny gaps between door, frame, and wall. These extend down the sewer pipe in the opposite direction of where they came from, branching out into millions of strands that all attach to an individual brick in the tunnel.

Closing her hands into fists, the tethers begin contracting, applying even small force to every brick, and tremendous, unimaginable force to the door. Stone crumbles, metal buckles, and with a deafening shriek, the door and frame is torn from the wall and rockets down the sewer.

Immediately the hole is filled with gunfire, and shortly thereafter, a shell impacts the back wall, exploding with deafening force.

As soon as their ears stop ringing, Glimmer yells: “Fog!”

Mermista supplies the water, Frosta boils it, and Spinnerella throws it through the opening.

Glimmer closes her eyes and visualizes. Nothing. “Spinnerella, what do you hear?”

Spinnerella extends her power and listens for the breathing and heartbeats. “I’m blocked.”

“Juliet! Shadow Weaver! You’re up!”

Juliet shoulders the large gun again, and Shadow Weaver casts the detection spell.

Two devices are covering the machine gun nest inside. Juliet has to shoot twice in one place before the penetrating beam hits. There’s some yelling in the distance.

“Six people!” Spinnerella yells. "More on the way.

Glimmer sees her destination in her minds eye, and blinks.

She lands behind a line of sand bags, behind six soldiers, three crewing a machine gun, three crewing a cannon of some sort, with a gaping hole in the back of the breech.

No point in trying to kill them with her power, as they are all wearing those same protections as Catra was in the Norther Reach.

She draws a circle in the air with a finger, conjuring an simpler diagram, and a wave of force throws all of them against the sandbags. With a magically empowered swing of her staff, she dashes the machine gun, and then the cannon to pieces. The commanding officer, a stoutly built woman Glimmer recognizes from the abduction at the ball, turns and points a weapon at her.

Glimmer just exchanges air for the cartridges inside the magazine and chamber, and they fall to the ground beside her. The gun clicks.

“Surrender or die by fire,” she says, drawing the sigil for the Second Flame of Elm.

They wisely all do so, laying down arms and holding up hands before the angry sorceress.

“Traps?” Glimmer asks.

“Duh,” Lonnie says.

“If any of my friends come through and get blown up, you die.”

“Tripwires across the hall. Five of them.”

“Perfuma!” Glimmer yells. “There’s traps! Send a monster through!”

A few seconds later a lumbering behemoth of a plant beast comes through the opening and wanders into the hall. Immediately there’s an explosion from the side of the hall, and the thing stumbles, its side torn open by a hail of shrapnel balls.

It lumbers on regardless, tripping the next five mines down the hall before finally falling over against the sandbags, bleeding sap from basically Everywhere.

“Clear!” Glimmer yells after the ringing in her ears has subsided.

The others come in, moving quickly. Netossa binds the six horde soldiers without even being asked, and they proceed to the stairwell, meeting immediate resistance in the form of automatic fire coming from the next floor up, ricocheting down the concrete stairwell. Perfuma starts making her bomb critters.

* * *

Catra reaches the roof. “Hordak! Power up the portal! The Princesses are about to—” there’s an explosion far below them “—scratch that, they are _in the building!_ ”

“Where is Entrapta?! I need her!”

And here, Catra sees her moment. Hordak ceases to be the Supreme Chancellor in her mind and gels into a quivering ball of insecurities.

His alien nature. His desire to bring the rest of the horde through. His skew relationship with Entrapta.

She stops dead, conjures what she can of genuine sadness.

“You don’t realize, do you? She let them in. That’s what she went to the Portal Physics division for; the Waygate — she’s been speaking to Adora. She… She betrayed us. She betrayed _you._ ”

Hordak’s ears droop. Then they perk up. “No!” he spins. “You _lie!_ Entrapta _loves me!_ ”

“How could she, truly? You’re not human. You’re not even from this world. I don’t even think she could ever love a human. She ‘loved’ you because she got to install fancy cybernetics in you, she ‘loved’ you because you gave her fancy new toys. But when push came to shove, she chose Etheria. Her home.”

Hordak lets out a yell of anguish and punches a steel girder hard enough to bend it, then cradles his injured hand.

The technicians on the roof all stop to look at him.

“What are you standing around for! Start the portal sequence!” Catra yells.

* * *

Adora paces. She can hear the hum from the roof.

The door handle turns and she stops. It opens and there is Glimmer.

Immediately she’s running to her, holding up a hand to stop the usual hug of reunion. “There’s no time!” she yells. “Hordak is about to open a portal on the roof! He’ll destroy the whole world!”

Glimmer blinks. Then she turns to the others. “You heard her; let’s go! To the roof!”

“There’s no time. Blink me! I need to tell Hordak!”

“I’ll be blinking in blind, we’ll get shot!” Glimmer says.

Shadow Weaver steps forward. She conjures a rune, and holds it out for Glimmer, who gingerly takes the delicate illusion. “Warding spell. Stops bullets.”

“Shadow Weaver?” Adora asks.

“Yes. Don’t dwell on it. No go!”

Adora looks at Glimmer, who nods.

“All right!” Netossa says. “We’re the backup now! To the roof!”

Glimmer blinks them. The hallway vanishes, and they are standing on the roof, under the rain-soaked waxed canvas tent above. The sigil in her hand activates.

Adora gets her bearings. Technicians in coveralls are manning dozens of posts. Hordak is standing by a large main console, and next to him, Catra. The roof is covered in machinery; in the center of it stands a device made of steel lattice beams, to which is bracketed four large round panels facing inwards, configured like the sides of a tetrahedron.

There in the center, hangs the Aegis of Power.

“Intruders! Open fire!” someone yells.

Automatic gunfire rings out, and bullets stop in mid-air before reaching Adora and Glimmer.

“Hordak!” Adora yells out. “You have to stop this! There’s something you don’t know about the portal! Opening it could be dangerous, it could destroy the world!”

“She’s lying!” Catra yells. “This must be how she convinced Entrapta! Don’t listen to her!”

“Shall I kill the technicians?” Glimmer asks. “There’s no suppressors up here.”

“They’re civilians,” Adora says.

She transforms into She-Ra, and reaches out one hand to the Aegis, and the metal in it begins to shift and churn, reaching towards her, but the Runestone itself is locked in place.

She looks around at the technicians. The ten soldiers providing security are closing on them.

Glimmer waves a hand, and they all fall over dead.

“Last chance, Hordak!” Glimmer says. “More princesses are coming, but I’ll happily kill everyone on this roof.”

Hordak straightens, and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a small box with an antenna and a button. He takes a few steps forward. “If you in any way prevent me from seeing this through, I will blow up this entire building. Tell the other princesses to stand down.”

“Hordak Listen to me!” Adora says. “The last She-Ra, she made it so if a portal was ever opened, it would destroy the world! Entrapta believed me; didn’t she explain this to you?!”

“Entrapta _betrayed me!_ ” he bellows. “And all because of _you!_ ”

Then the roof access bursts open, and a plant monster barges through, followed by the Princesses.

Hordak raises the detonation device.

Glimmer blinks into the air above him, touches it, and blinks it a mile into the sky.

In the same moment Glimmer is gone from Adora, Hordak draws his pistol and fires. She-Ra clutches her chest, and in a flash of light, reverts to Adora.

“Nobody moves or She-Ra dies,” Hordak says. “Don’t test me, Princess Glimmer; I am faster than you.”

“Power-up sequence finalized!” one of the technicians yell. “Proceed when ready!”

The hum becomes teeth-clattering, and the portal device starts throwing off electrical discharges.

Catra steps over to the console, turns the key, flicks the cover off the big red button.

“Catra!” Adora yells. “Please! Don’t!”

Catra looks back at her. Smiles.

Today, they win.

She pushes the button—


	3. Everything,

Adora wakes with a start.

“What are you doing?” Catra asks sleepily, half woken by Adora’s sudden movement.

She’s lying with on arm over Adora’s bare chest, cuddled up to her. Her warm fur feels wonderful on bare skin, almost sweltering under the sheet.

“I—” Adora says. “I had a strange dream.”

“Oh yeah,” Catra purrs. “Me too, _Captain._ ” She runs a clawed finger over Adora’s sternum, kindling memories of the scratch-marks on her back, unkindly reminding her that she’s lying on said scratch-marks.

“I dreamt that you finally confessed _all_ your feelings for me.”

Adora giggles. “Shut up, you were all like: No, don’t die! I love you!”

“I was _not,_ ” Catra says and blushes.

“I can’t believe you _like_ me,” Adora says, and begins tickling her. “That is _so embarassing_ for you!”

Catra giggles, as they tumble around in the bed, and the tickles become kisses.

?

“We should really get up, though,” Adora says, straddling Catra’s nude form. “There’s a briefing, and I heard they are awarding you a _medal._ ”

“That’s how it is. You get the promotions, the responsibilities, the _raise,_ ” Catra says. “And _I_ get all the glory in battle.”

“You wish,” Adora says, and hops off. She rolls out of bed, and heads to the showers, to negotiate a water temperature which her claw-marks can accept.

Catra watches her new girlfriend walk away.

Adora stops in the door to the bathroom, and looks over at Catra. _Almost too good to be true,_ she thinks. Then she bites her lip, and continues over the mirror. Her hair is a mess. “Hey, Cat.”

“Ad?”

“How are you doing?”

Catra stretches in the bed, sensuously enjoying the beam of sunlight from the window. “Everything is perfect,” she purrs.

“Why don’t you take your perfect little butt and join me in the shower?”

* * *

The award ceremony is held in Capital, and Chancellor Hordak — for the first time ever — is there in person to pin shiny brass to a number of distinguished soldiers. Mostly navy, from the big sea battle with Salineas, and then Catra.

Adora sits in the crowd, next to Shadow Weaver.

She leans over. “You know, Adora, I think you could have picked worse for an Adjutant.”

“I’ll ignore how back-handed that compliment was, and just tell Catra you’re proud of her,” Adora says.

“I’ll tell her myself, cheeky girl,” Shadow Weaver says.

And she does. Catra comes off the podium beaming. She heads for Adora and Shadow Weaver.

“How was it to shake hands with the Chancellor?” Adora asks.

“He’s got a strong grip,” Catra says.

“Catra, I’m so proud of you,” Shadow Weaver says, and caresses her behind the ear. "I know I don’t often say it, but I think you hold greater promise than you let on. Now with you two moving up in the world, I expect you to have each other’s backs.

She looks down, and Adora can tell her mood changing, even behind the mask. “I’ve done the two of you injustice over the years with my absence. I want you to know you have an ally in me, here in Capital. If you need something, do not be afraid to reach out.”

“So…” Catra says. “Would this be a bad time to confess to something?”

“What?” Shadow Weaver says.

Catra looks at Adora. “Catra and I are dating now,” Adora says.

“I might have known,” Shadow Weaver says. “You always were close. Do take care — romantic entanglements can sour professional relationships.”

“You’re not mad?” Catra asks.

“Why should I be? I know how fickle the heart can be; there is no use in attempting to control it by force. I’m content to let you two do as you please. You are no longer children. In my eyes, to an extent, everything is perfect.”

As Shadow Weaver walks away, the look at each other. Adora takes Catra’s hand. “That went over way better than I thought it would,” Catra says.

Adora looks over at the sky-line. Now that they’re here, they might as well go out and have fun.

MARA

“Did you see that?” Adora asks.

“See what?”

“There was this bright flash of light.” She points.

“Isn’t that the Sorcery Division building? Where Shadow Weaver works?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re seeing things.”

* * *

Adora enters the auditorium and takes a seat next to a stranger: a Scorpioni woman.

“Hey. I’m Scorpia. Navy Lieutenant.”

Adora’s offered a large gloved hand. She takes it.

“Adora. Army Captain.”

The woman’s grip is strong, and she doesn’t let go. “You know, I don’t know why, I’m usually such an easy-going person, but I don’t _like_ you.”

Adora leans away a little. “Uh… I can find another seat?”

Brigadier General Cobalt enters the room and calls to order by knocking on the desk on the podium.

“Everyone, thank you for coming to this orientation. With the defeat of the rebels at Thaymor Keep, the road construction through the Whispering Woods is nearing completion. However, command has decide that we need to distract Brightmoon, now that the project that will be their downfall is about to be completed.”

There’s some whooping. “Hey! We got the hero of Thaymor right here!” someone yells, pointing to Adora.

Adora waves.

“Quiet down,” Cobalt says. "As I was saying… To cause this distraction: today we’ll be discussing a joint operation aimed at taking the rebel city of Elberon. A month ago, we suffered a defeat there, as you might have heard. However, during the battle, the fortifications suffered extensive damage, and a follow-up attack before they can rebuild has a high chance of success.

"This is why the Army and Navy are going to join forces, and perform the largest troop landing in this or any expansion in Horde history.

“Now, it is possible that during this operation we’ll come to engage with Brightmoon’s most powerful force-multiplying assets: the Runestone Princesses.”

A pair of aides set up a tripod behind him and place on it, a large poster with a rogues gallery of enemy royalty. "Brightmoon alone has four Runestones at their disposal, with five wielders. Of note is Princess Glimmer, who is one of the reasons for our previous defeat at Elberon.

“What a stupid name,” Scorpia mutters.

But for Adora, it’s familiar.

She looks out the windows that line the sides of the auditorium, and sees the military base stretching out beyond.

MARA

She rubs her eyes.

Then the sudden realization hits her that there’s something she’s forgotten.

“Hey, where are you going, Army pipsqueak?” Scorpia says, as Adora gets out of her seat, and heads for the doors up the stairs.

Out in the hallway is Catra.

“What are you doing here?” Adora asks.

Catra offers her a canteen of water. “Hey, you look pale, are you okay Adora?”

“I keep getting these flashes of light. I feel like I’m forgetting something.”

“Let’s get you some air.”

* * *

Up on the roof, she looks over the army base with Catra. They’ve relocated from the front, so beyond the edges of the base lie a vast industrial landscape.

“What’s wrong?” Catra asks.

“How… How did we get up here?”

“We climbed?” Catra asks.

“No, I mean— I don’t remember doing that.” Adora says.

“Did that explosion back in Thaymor give you brain damage? Please don’t have brain damage.”

Adora sits down next to Catra.

“See? You just need to relax.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Of course I’m right,” Catra says. “I’m always right. Everything’s _perfect._ Soon enough, you and I are going to rule the world together. Just like we always planned.”

“Is… Is that what you really want?”

Catra looks at her. “Well, yeah. Obviously. Doesn’t everybody?”

“I— I don’t know.”

“Hey, Adora, don’t flake out on me now.”

“But what if something goes wrong? What if we don’t stay together?”

“Hey,” Catra says, and leans over, taking Adora’s hand. “I promise you; I’ll always be with you, okay?”

MARA

“Can’t you see that?” Adora asks.

“See what?” Catra says.

“Big flashes of light!”

“Hey Captain!” someone yells from below.

Adora looks down to see Sergeant Lonnie, Kyle, and Rogelio.

“Thought we’d find you two lovebirds up there together!”

* * *

Down on the ground, Adora looks around herself, bewildered.

“Okay, so you just missed the memo, but —” she holds up a letter. Transfer orders. “— we’re shipping out to Elberon for the big invasion, Captain!”

“But— didn’t Cobalt say; wasn’t that supposed to be next week?” Adora says.

“Yeah, he said that _last_ week,” Lonnie says.

MARA

“Okay, I am officially freaking out. There’s something _wrong,_ here!”

“Adora!” Catra says.

“No, I just lost a week! A whole week! Last thing I remember, I was _at that briefing._ ”

“Let’s get you to the infirmary,” Lonnie says.

“No! I’m not sick; I don’t have a concussion or anything!” Adora continues. “There is something wrong with the universe!”

Catra slaps her on the cheek.

“Ow!” Adora says. “What was that for?!”

“Your freaking out is freaking me out!” Catra says.

Adora puts a hand on her collar bone. Six stinging sensations. “None of this is right; we’re not supposed to be here. There’s— there’s a name I keep seeing. Mara. Mara? Does that mean anything to any of you?”

There’s a round of head-shakes.

“Adora, everything is all right,” Kyle says. “Better than all right, even. They say we’re on the cusp of a big victory.”

“Stop saying that!” Adora says.

“What?”

“Just— everything is too good; reality is never this neat!”

Except. Except that one naval lieutenant who hates her for no reason.

Adora turns around and runs.

It’s beginning to come back, in flashes.

* * *

_Sword. Glimmer. Bow. Angella. Cometa. Adora. Razz. Mara._

MARA

_Mara._

* * *

She’s not sure where, but she finds her.

“Scorpia! Lieutenant!”

“Oh. It’s you,” Scorpia says.

“I need your help.”

“Oh _really._ ”

“Something is wrong; everyone is too nice; except for you. You don’t even know me, and you hate me. Why?”

“Gut feeling,” Scorpia says.

“I’m serious! Even Catra is—”

“Catra.” Scorpia says.

Adora pauses. “You feel it too, right? You remember?!”

“No. I mean, I don’t know, I—” Scorpia says. “ _Entrapta,_ ” she whispers. “ _Catra, what have you done?_ ”

Adora pumps her fist. A small victory.

“This is all _wrong,_ ” Scorpia says. “How did we get here?”

“I don’t know, but I keep seeing these flashes of light.”

MARA

“Like that one!”

“What was that?” Scorpia asks.

“Oh thank the stars, you see it too! The first time I saw it was by the Sorcery Division headquarters in Capital. We need to get there as fast as possible.”

“Uh,” Scorpia says. “I have a pilot’s license. We can fly there in one of the new monowings. They are _really_ fast.”

“Lead the way.”

* * *

They land on an airstrip, and grab a car from the motor pool.

Adora drives into the city; night has fallen and the streets are empty.

They arrive at an empty lot.

“Are you sure this is the place?”

Adora looks around, bewildered. “My mom— no, this horrible lady who raised me used to work here. There’s supposed to be a skyscraper!”

“I went with you on a whim, and if it wasn’t because I feel like I’m going crazy too, I’d call you crazy.”

MARA

Adora curls over, her head throbbing awfully.

“There was something on the roof of it. A… A machine. And in it — in it was a… A weapon… _My weapon._ ”

She looks to her right. “Scorpia?”

There’s no Sorcery Division.

There’s no Scorpia.

There’s no car.

There’s no Capital.

* * *

Adora stands on the airfield. She looks east towards the Fright Zone. “ _What the fuck…_ ”

There’s no airfield.

Then she runs. Back past the main building, back to the office building. Inside she finds her office, and in it, Catra.

“Catra!”

“ _There you are,_ ” Catra says. “Did you think I’d just cover for you forever or something?”

“Catra we need to go, right now. Something is happening; I few to Capital with Scorpia and… And now it’s all gone! And if we don’t get out of here, I have a feeling we’re next!”

Catra stands from the desk. “You’re not making any sense, everything’s fine! Everything’s perfect!”

“Stop saying that! I know it’s not perfect and _so do you!_ ”

Catra winces.

“You remember, don’t you?”

Catra clutches her left arm with her right hand, and looks Adora in the eye. “You’ve gone crazy. I’m not going anywhere.”

Adora goes up to her, takes her hands, and kisses her. “Please, Cat. Do it for me.”

Catra looks away. “Okay.”

* * *

They steal a landskiff, and Adora takes them west.

Over the hills, towards the edge of the forest.

“Wait, where the hell are you taking us?!” Catra asks.

“To Brightmoon!”

“We’ll be killed! They hate us!”

Catra lunges for the steering rod; Adora resists and they wrestle for a moment. Just long enough to not miss a tree. Then the skiff is above them and they are below.

They are thrown against the forest floor with force, and tumble.

Adora wheezes, ribs broken.

Catra lands better. She gets up, casts one look at the wrecked skiff, and starts walking.

“Catra you can’t!”

Adora gets up, clutching her side. “We need to get as far away from the Fright Zone as possible, or we’ll be erased too, along with everything else.”

Catra spins. “Do you think you can convince me by abducting me and going AWOL?”

“I am _not_ leaving you behind again!” Adora says, quietly. “That is the one thing I regret most, ever.”

Catra puts both hands to her forehead in frustration. “Why can’t you just _stay!?_ ” she yells. “We have _everything_ we ever wanted here!”

Adora approaches. “It’s not real, Catra. As much as I wish to go back to the way things used to be, when everything was simple. This is just a dream. A really good dream. But we have to wake up.”

Catra turns and resumes walking, Adora shuffles after.

“Catra! Why did you do it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about; you’re not making any sense!”

Adora stops, and points. Catra looks up.

At nothing.

“Catra, we have to go. I promise, everything will be okay if we just stick together,” Adora says.

* * *

_So we’ll stay together!_

_Forever?_

_Until the end of the world!_

_You promise?_

_I promise._

* * *

“Help me fix all of this!”

* * *

_I’m not coming home, Catra. You may be able to accept it, but I can’t. Not after everything I’ve seen. Cat… You don’t have to go back there. We can fix this!_

* * *

Catra turns to her.

“Please. This can’t be what you want, can it?”

“Don’t you get it?” Catra says, with malice dripping from her voice. “I am _never_ going to go with you.” She raises a hand, claws extended.

Adora raises an arm in defense, stumbles back, and falls on her rear.

Catra bursts out laughing. “You always have to go and ruin it, don’t you? I don’t even have to hit you.”

Adora rolls to her feet, wincing. Then she goes for a low kick, which Catra easily jumps over. Adora follows with a quick jab combo which Catra deflects and answers with a claw swipe that draws blood.

“I though punching things was supposed to be the one thing you were good at!” she jeers.

Adora dances back, inspecting the wound on her arm. Her beck foot lands halfway on nothing at all. She looks behind her, and sees nothing.

“Catra, look what’s happening! You’re going to destroy everything!”

“I don’t care, Adora,” Catra says. “If that’s what it takes to make sure you loose, then I’d let the whole world end!”

She lunges at Adora, claws outstretched, going for the neck. Adora dodges, and Catra misjudges. A claw swipe catches her uniform lapel, and they tumble to the ground together.

Catra goes over the edge, and Adora instinctively grabs her wrist.

“Catra!” she pleads.

Catra looks up at her, then with almost a sort of serenity on her face, reaches up and pries Adora’s fingers off her wrist, one by one.

She falls.

And then there is no Catra.


	4. …, But What If?

Adora scrambles away from the edge, gets to her feet, and starts running west, through the forest. Through the Whispering Woods.

She knows its geography passably, in the real world, but this is not it. And she is not in a headspace to think. Hot tears stream freely down her cheeks.

It’s not real. But the pain is. The regret. What she could have had, had things gone differently.

“Adora, dearie, what are you running from?” Razz asks. “Everything is perfectly safe!”

Adora stops running, and Razz is there, in a lovely clearing, next to a lovely cottage.

“Razz?” Adora asks.

“Oh, what are you calling your grandmother by her name for, silly girl?”

Adora runs to her, and pulls the old woman into a tight hug. “Oh, sweetness, what is the matter? I’ve not seen you this upset since you were little.”

She was never an orphan. She was never stolen from Razz by Hordak’s experiments in portal technology. She was never raised by a horrific abuser. She…

Catra.

“Oh Razz, this isn’t real. This is an evil dream,” Adora says. “The world is ending, and everyone thinks it is perfect; I don’t know how to stop it.”

“Ah,” Razz says. She holds Adora out from her, thinking hard. “Listen to me, my sweet girl. I know what is happening. Your mother did this, to protect us. Someone, somewhere, has toyed with things he should not.”

“Yes. Hordak; he opened a portal. Except the portal is gone, and the Hordelands too. There’s only nothing.”

“Hm. You say this is a dream? In dreams, anything is possible. And in magic, too; I know what Mara did is magic. So…”

“So?”

Razz looks Adora in the eye. “I believe in you, Adora. With all my faith; that you can do the impossible. You know that, don’t you?”

Adora nods.

Razz wipes her tears away. “Then get to it. I’ll leave you with this: in dreams, you don’t have to go places, in order to go places. Yes?”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to understand. Dreams are not meant to be understood. You just have to remember. I find it always works to start at the beginning.”

Adora turns and looks east, towards where she knows there is nothing. “I… I have to get my friends. I have to find Bow and Glimmer. But— if there’s no Horde, then they never invaded Bow’s home village.”

“Then go there.”

* * *

Beauregard is a smart, strong young man. An apprentice at the library, part-time helper with the clocksmith. He is stylish, well-groomed, and soft-spoken. His mother is his only parent, as he was born out of wedlock, but despite that, his breeding has never been called into question and in general everything a young woman in need of a husband might want.

(Secretly though, occasionally, he also has eyes for some of the young men; but that is neither proper nor here nor there.)

So it is not unusual for him to be approached by strange women in the town square on Saturdays, when he takes a day off work.

“Bow.”

He looks up. She’s unusual. A lot stronger cut than the rest of the village womenfolk. Her dress is utilitarian and all-together manly; nay, almost military. “Beauregard, only my mother calls me Beau. What can I help you with, miss—?”

“Adora. I have something to tell you, I need you to believe me.”

“Ooh~kay?” He closes the book he is reading and puts it in his satchel, then finishes his beer. “Shall I get us another round? Perhaps we can discuss this while slaking our thirst?”

“No. Listen. This isn’t real. You hate the name ‘Beauregard.’ You’re not some city-slicker, you’re a Ranger in the Whispering Woods. You were raised without ever knowing your mother; George and Lance brought you up like their own son.”

Beau snickers. “That is some tall-tale you’re spinning, Miss Adora.”

“You and Perfuma dated for a while, but she broke up with you. You once had a crush on Sea Hawk, from Salineas? And you’re childhood friends with Princess Glimmer, and I’m willing to bet one day you two are going to end up married.”

Beau’s smile fades, “look if this is your idea of a joke, then it is not an amusing one. Good day.”

“Listen to me!” Adora says. “Captain Wolfclaw taught you everything you know about the forest! Remember him? He _died_ at Thaymor, and you grieved for weeks!” she’s shouting now. “You and me? We’re best friends! We trained together for weeks; I saved you from the Fright Zone. Remember that? You have to remember!”

He looks around anxiously. “No. Everything is perfectly fine—”

“It’s not. This is what things could have been like, if the Horde never existed. They never destroyed your home and drove George and Lance to take up residence in the Hidden Library. None of this is real — I bet you don’t even remember what you did yesterday.”

“I… I don’t. I—” Bow looks at her, realization. “Adora, what is happening? Where’s Glimmer?”

“Oh good,” Adora says. “You do remember.” She pulls him into a hug.

“Okay, tell me what’s going on.”

“As far as I can tell, we’re operating on dream logic. Hordak opened his portal, and raw magic is spilling through, threatening to erase all of our reality.”

“Shit. What do we do?”

“We go to Brightmoon.”

* * *

They arrive in the palace courtyard.

“Wait, how did we get here?” Bow asks.

“Oh good, it worked!” Adora says.

“Halt!”

Immediately a dozen royal guards descend on them, spears pointed.

“We surrender!” Adora says immediately. “We have vital and time-sensitive information to convey to the Queen!”

“Very well,” the captain — so indicated by her rank insignia — says.

“Wait, I recognize that voice. Juliet?” Bow asks.

The captain takes off her helmet, revealing elfin features and tan skin. No scar.

“How do you know my name, stranger?” she asks.

“Oh shit. Do we try to convince her?” Bow asks Adora quietly.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Adora says. “You’re not some average palace guard; you’re supposed to be assigned to the Princess, after she was kidnapped at the Runestone Princess Gala, remember?”

“What nonsense is this,” Juliet says.

Adora continues: “And she can be a real brat, Glimmer —”

“You are _not_ to speak in such familiar terms about the Princess of Brightmoon!” Juliet protests.

“— So after the eleventh time or so of her blinking away, you gave in and decided to become her friend. Sort of. We went up north together, and then to the desert.”

Juliet hesitates. “I shall take you to see the Queen. If you are _very lucky_ she may have time for an audience. At the very least she shall take a keen interest in how two commoners gained illicit entry into the palace.”

* * *

Queen Angella sits the Brightmoon Throne, ethereal and resplendent. To her right, sits her King; Micah of Mystacor. To her left sits her only progeny, and fellow wielder of the Moonstone, Heiress Apparent, Princess Glimmer. They are a happy family, despite the occasional conflict.

Micah has just returned from a lengthy spot of business in Mystacor, assisting their new Runestone Wielder; something he has experience with from being married to one, and father to another.

Such a joyous occasion has unfortunately been soured thoroughly by this rather worrying instance of trespassing. The throne room has been cleared of court and staff.

Adora and Bow are led in, in manacles.

“King Micah?” Adora bursts out.

Micah rises from his throne and descends the floating platforms to the level floor. With one casual gesture he casts the strongest truthfulness binding yet discovered. The symbol imprints itself upon the floor beneath the feet of the young woman and man.

“Under this spell you will be compelled to answer honestly.”

Adora looks at Bow, who looks back at her.

“So, that means you’ll believe me? Like, not think I’m crazy or lying or joking around?”

“Uh… Yes?” Micah says. This is not usually how people react to being put under a truth spell. He glances back at his wife, who is just as confused.

“Great! My name is Adora, I’m She-Ra.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence.

“I can’t transform right now, because I’m pretty sure I got shot,” Adora continues, “but I think I can prove it anyway.” She holds out her manacled hands and dips into the starlight.

She doesn’t have to dip very far for an emotional connection, although it does cost her a good chunk of her enthusiasm. _That was never real, what we had._

Starlight flows through her hands, into motes of warm radiance.

“You’re the Legendary Champion of Etheria?” Queen Angella says. “How can this be? Why now?”

“Oh-hohoho, that is a _long_ story. But to begin with, none of this is real. In the real world, we are at _war,_ with a nation known as the Horde, residing in the Fright Zone, which doesn’t exist right now because the whole country is now nothing.”

“Brightmoon has known nothing but peace for the entire duration of my reign,” Queen Angella says.

“Please, try to remember? Princess Glimmer is a hardened veteran, not some pampered young woman who dresses like a teenager!”

“Hey!” Glimmer protests. She’s wearing perfectly fashionable coat-and-dress combo, short enough to show some knee, and then laces sandals. All in royal colors.

“You’ve been mentoring me,” Adora continues, “and I know how much you worry about Glimmer whenever she takes to the field. I know how proud of her you are, and how much you think she is like her father.”

Adora looks to Micah. “King Micah. There is no gentle way to put this, but you’re supposed to be dead.”

Juliet draws her sword and puts it to Adora’s throat: “Are you threatening the king?” Adora just brushes it aside casually, as if it’s a nuisance, not a threat.

“There is a kind of cataclysm happening; reality is coming apart because of a portal that’s been opened by these aforementioned ‘Horde.’ It’s because of something the previous She-Ra did to ensure a portal could never be opened. I’m trying to stop it, and I need your daughter’s help.”

Adora looks to Glimmer.

“Glimmer, we haven’t been friends for very long; and we’ve dated for even less, but I…” she wants to say ‘love’ but the word doesn’t want to come. “I like you a lot. I saved you from captivity and torture, and the last thing I remember, you came to save me right back. We fought side-by-side in the Ash Corridor, and you were there when Cometa”died." Adora pauses, that wound is still raw.

“Oh! And this —” she points to Bow “— this is Bow, your oldest and best friend! Remember him? He brings you gross things from the forest to put in jars!?”

Queen Angella rises. “Enough of this nonsense. The girl is clearly insane.”

“Please, your Majesty,” Bow says. “Try to think! Can any of you remember what happened yesterday? Or last week? What you had for breakfast? This phenomenon that’s going on, it’s like a dream. We got into the castle because we just _went,_ the way you can do in dreams.”

“I’ve heard enough,” Queen Angella says. “Take these two away.”

“Angie, a word?” Micah says.

Queen Angella takes her husbands hand, and they disappear in a flash of light.

“Huh,” Adora says. “She can’t do that, normally.”

“What, but Glimmer can?” Bow asks. “Aren’t they sharing the Moonstone?”

“Yeah, but she told me she can’t see things in her mind’s eye. Never could. That’s what Glimmer does to use her teleportation.”

The two reappear.

“For now,” Queen Angella says. “Guards, take these two to a spare guest suite, and lock the doors. They do not seem to hold malice towards us; and in any case insanity is no crime. Mister Bow and Miss Adora, we shall decide what to do with you after we’ve had a thorough discussion with some domain experts.”

* * *

The guest suite is lavish and familiar in layout to the both of them.

“So, what now?” Bow asks.

“We have to get through to them somehow. Time is of the essence.”

There’s a flash of light.

“Okay,” Glimmer says. “You two are far too coherent to be insane, and my father has _never_ messed up a truth spell. So what’s the deal?”

Adora blinks. “I think we just spent what, five minutes, frantically explaining everything best as we could?”

“So it’s all true?”

“Glimmer,” Bow says quietly. “Do you remember when your dad died, when we were kids?”

Glimmer freezes. “I— How— But— _No,_ ” she says. A tear rolls down her cheek. “But my dad is _alive._ ”

“Sorry,” Bow says. “No. He’s not. Whatever he is here, he is not alive in the real world.”

He goes to her and puts his arms around her in a gentle embrace, and Glimmer starts crying. She buries her face in his shoulder, staining his fine shirt.

They stand there for a little while, and then Glimmer stops sobbing, and sniffles a bit, and then she pulls away, takes a deep breath, and steadies herself.

“Adora,” she says. “Bow. What’s going on and how do we stop it?”

“I don’t know exactly, and I don’t know exactly,” Adora says. “But we can figure it out together.”

“I remember Hordak’s portal,” Glimmer says. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s what’s causing it? We need to know more.”

“We could go to the spacecraft,” Bow says. “That’s where you learnt what the portal would do, right?”

“Good call, but I don’t get the impression Mara ever planned for what to _do_ if someone opened a portal. I think she would be fine with Etheria being destroyed.”

“So let’s go to the source,” Glimmer says. “Let’s go find Hordak and ask him how to stop it.”

“No. He didn’t build the portal,” Adora says. “And I don’t think he exists here. His wife did. Princess Entrapta.”

“Dryl,” Glimmer says. “If no Horde, then she’d be at home in Dryl. But how do we get there?”

Adora shrugs. “We walk?”

* * *

_Your Majesties, your daughter is missing._

It’s the one thing no parent wants to hear. ‘Hurt’ has certainty to it. ‘Missing’ is left in limbo.

Angella stands at the top of the Sacred Tower, under the glow of her birthright. She looks east towards the Whispering Woods, and beyond where nothing lies.

Nothing comes in from the south too. Much faster than anything. A roiling wave that you can’t see coming.

She takes off her gloves; to be barehanded has always helped her make hard decision.

“Angie.”

Micah comes up behind her, and gently puts his arms around her waist. “I’ve cast all the tracking spells I could think of; and I’ve sent to Mystacor for specialists. We’ll get her back. And then everything will be perfect, again.”

She leans into his embrace. Then she turns and restrains herself from kissing him. Her wings fold around them. “This _is_ perfect, my love.”

With a gentle hand, she caresses his cheek and his thick beard. “But it is not real. I… I remember now.”

She takes his hands in hers.

“I miss you _so much._ Not a day goes by I do not think of you. But… Glimmer needs me. And I can’t stay with nothing but memories and dreams, no matter how pleasant.”

Micah lowers his head. “Angella. I—”

She leans in to kiss him on the cheek. “Goodbye, Micah.” Then she walks past him to the edge of the tower.

“Angella,” Micah says, as the realization dawns on him. “Wait! I remember!”

She looks back at him with tears in her eyes, but a serene smile. “Good.”

“I’m not dead!”

Her smile shatters like glass; she covers her mouth with both hands. “ _No,_ ” she whispers.

Then there is no south side of the tower.

Angella reaches out and bends space, quickening her escape into the skies, as horrific realization consumes her.

* * *

“Hello. Welcome to Castle Dryl. Do I know you?” Entrapta asks.

“Wait, how did we get here?” Glimmer asks, looking around.

“Don’t question it,” Bow says.

Castle Dryl is a gloomy place if this room is anything to go by. Entrapta is sitting on her hair — longer and much more voluminous than it was when Adora last saw her in Capital, and without the tentacular arms on her back.

Behind her is a gigantic mess of electronics: cables and wires connecting sheet-metal boxes, bare circuit boards, and huge phosphorescent screens.

Surrounding her is an entourage of metal men. One of them looks distinctly like Scorpia, Adora notes. Another like Hordak.

“Oh! Manners!” Entrapta says. “I forgot to do the hospitality thing.” She claps her hands. “Tiny snacks?”

One of the metal men comes forward, bearing a tray of _hors d’euvre._

“No thanks,” Adora says, “Listen, Princess Entrapta, this is going to sound strange but—”

“Is it about the unstable influx of magical energy from an active wormhole improperly bridged through a subspace of very high unreality that is currently destroying spacetime?”

“Uh… Yes.”

She takes a seat on her hair again and scoots over to the screens.

“I figured it out a while ago. It’s the only explanation that fits the facts; both the gravitational waves and the reality-warping effects. As long as it is open, the raw magic will continue to flow, accelerating the accumulation of unreality, unraveling reality faster and faster until everything turns into nothing at all…”

She makes a little ‘ka-psh’ noise, complete with jazz hands, then giggles.

“I cannot emphasize enough how that would be cataclysmically bad,” she adds, suddenly serious.

“How do we stop it?”

“Simple, you close the portal. Starved of magic, the unreality field will consume itself and revert virtually all changes it has made.”

Adora looks to Glimmer and Bow. “That doesn’t sound so hard?”

“I said ‘simple,’ not ‘easy.’ A wormhole of this caliber can only be closed from the inside, which requires either trans-universal actuators, or a _human sacrifice._ ”

Adora, Glimmer, and Bow all recoil in horror.

“By which I mean, someone has to be inside the portal topology to close it, and when it does, they will be trapped there, between spacetime branes. Possibly forever. Or maybe ripped apart by tidal forces. Hard to say, really…” Entrapta reclines back, looking dreamily at the ceiling. “ _Oh physics. Why must you hide your most interesting data in places I can’t go?_ ”

Glimmer looks at Adora. “Entrapta, there must be another way.”

“I said there was: trans-universal actuators!”

“And how do we get those?” Glimmer asks.

“Uh… That is ‘complicated.’ And I haven’t figured it out yet.”

“Entrapta,” Adora says. “Try to remember, you and Hordak built the portal machine—”

Entrapta’s hair stops moving. “Remember,” she repeats.

She turns to look at Adora. “I… Remember. I had— I had a lab partner. Hordak.” A smile starts to spread over her face. “A friend. A really _good_ friend. My… Best friend. I— I was in love. We got married… And then Catra…”

Her smile vanishes.

“Oh. I remember everything now. I’m… Not really here, am I? And Hordak, he was right next to it… He’s” her voice breaks. “ _gone?_ ”

There’s no readouts to read. There’s nothing taking up the back wall of the room.

“No,” Adora says. “How is that already here? We’ve only been here for a few minutes!”

“Oh. That one’s obvious,” Entrapta says, looking at nothing. “It’s the Runestone in your Aegis of Power. Whatever the unreality is doing, it is zeroing in on you through it. It was nice talking to you. I… I’m going to… Go. Now.”

“Entrapta, please don’t!” Adora says, and reaches for her, grasping her shoulder.

Entrapta looks back, with a tear rolling down her cheek. “You’re not so tall now. I like talking to you. I… Wish we could do it some more.”

Then she tears away from Adora’s hold and hurls herself into oblivion.

“… _Shit,_ ” Adora mutters.

“So where do we go now?” Glimmer asks

“Let’s start with ‘away from the all-devouring wall of nothingness’ shall we?” Bow says.

* * *

“Okay, so, the whispering woods are outside Entrapta’s room,” Bow says.

“Look,” Adora says.

It is the cut-out courtyard, hewn from the rock. A ruined colonnade, and a First-Ones’ gate. The entrance to the Crystal Castle.

There, at the entrance, is a figure coming out. A woman in blues and greys, with tan skin and dark hair. Mara.

“Mom?” Adora says.

Mara looks across the courtyard at them, bewildered. “A— Adora?”

Adora looks up at the night sky on impulse and sees stars. “Oh no,” she mutters.

“What is it?” Glimmer says.

“Time is coming apart, I think,” Adora says. “This is the sky from one thousand years ago.”

Mara sets out for them but then nothing. The Crystal Castle isn’t.

Adora turns to Glimmer and Bow. “I… I’m going to do something stupid now.”

Glimmer takes her hand, smiling. “You already did when you tried to go talk to Hordak.”

“Okay. Then I’m going to do something crazy now. You two stay here, I’ll… I’ll get my hands on the Aegis.”

“Adora,” Bow says. “Please don’t go martyr yourself.”

“I wasn’t planning on it, Bow.”

“Liar. I know you. We _both_ know you,” Bow says.

“True,” Glimmer adds. “You’re exactly the kind of person who would go do something like that. Don’t. Please.”

Nothing comes closer, forming no ring around their little patch of land.

“This is it for us,” Glimmer says.

Realization hits. “No; no-no-no,” Adora pleads. “We’ll go somewhere else! We can stave it off!”

“For how long?” Bow asks. “You need to fix this, you _can_ fix this, without anyone having to sacrifice themselves.”

“How do you know that?” Adora says. “Entrapta said it was impossible!”

“Because you’re She-Ra,” Glimmer says. “And I believe in you.”

Then nothing consumes them, leaving Adora suspended in limbo.

* * *

She lands on a little slice of _something_ after falling for an eternity. A little bit of dirt road.

“ **H** e **e** ~y, **A** d **o** r **a**.”

Adora’s blood turns to ice in her veins. She spins.

There is Catra; except… Her left arm and half her face are now a black, lightless void in the shape of those missing body parts. One eye — the yellow one — has been replaced with nothing. Looking her in the eyes, it’s like Adora is forgetting she has two eyes.

Catra’s uniform jacket hangs in tatters, shorn off at the dividing line between blackness and flesh. Half of her face protector has been stripped to bare shiny metal, but is intact. On the bare flesh, Adora can see the glowing lines of her enhancement tattoos.

Catra grabs hold of Adora’s lapels and throws her down in the dirt.

But the dirt is the metal deck of a Horde ship. Catra straddles her.

“ **A** w **w** … W **h** e **r** e **a** r **e** y **o** u **r** f **r** i **e** n **d** s?”

She draws back for a punch and Adora dodges the thrown fist which dents metal below her. She grabs hold of Catra’s arm at the elbow.

“Catra, stop! You have to—”

Catra leans into it, and Adora struggles to keep Catra’s lower arm from coming to rest on her throat.

“ **I** t’ **s** a **l** w **a** y **s** t **h** e **s** a **m** e **s** o **n** g **a** n **d** d **a** n **c** e **w** i **t** h **y** o **u** , A **d** o **r** a. ‘ **I** h **a** v **e** t **o** d **o** t **h** i **s** , o **h** w **e** h **a** v **e** t **o** d **o** t **h** a **t**.’ L **e** t’ **s** b **e** h **o** n **e** s **t** , _a **l** l_ **o** f **t** h **i** s **i** s **y** o **u** r **f** a **u** l **t**.”

Catra rolls, and in doing so pulls Adora over her and into a throw. Adora strikes a wall of ice.

“ **I** f **y** o **u** h **a** d **n** ’t **g** o **t** t **e** n **c** a **p** t **u** r **e** d, **t** h **a** t **w** e **a** p **o** n **o** f **y** o **u** r **s** w **o** u **l** d **n** ’t **h** a **v** e **b** e **e** n **u** s **e** d **t** o **o** p **e** n **t** h **e** p **o** r **t** a **l**.”

Catra throws Adora off the roof, and she falls into the basement under the waygate.

“ **I** f **y** o **u** h **a** d **n** ’t **g** o **t** t **e** n **c** h **o** s **e** n, **a** n **d** b **e** e **n** t **h** e **w** o **r** l **d** ’s _**w** o **r** s **t**_ S **h** e- **R** a, _**n** o **n** e **o** f **t** h **i** s_ **w** o **u** l **d** h **a** v **e** h **a** p **p** e **n** e **d**.”

A swift kick to Adora’s bad ribs sends her tumbling onto the floor in the Crystal Castle.

“ **A** d **m** i **t** i **t** , A **d** o **r** a. **T** h **e** w **o** r **l** d **w** o **u** l **d** s **t** i **l** l **b** e **s** t **a** n **d** i **n** g **i** f **y** o **u** h **a** d **n** e **v** e **r** c **o** m **e** t **h** r **o** u **g** h **H** o **r** d **a** k’ **s** b **o** t **c** h **e** d **p** o **r** t **a** l.”

Catra pics her up again and lets her fall over backwards over the lip of a trench, eight feet down into the deep mud at the bottom.

“ **Y** o **u** _m **a** d **e** m **e** t **h** i **s**._”

Another grab, another throw, Adora slides down a deep diagonal shaft drilled in ice.

“ **Y** o **u** _t **o** o **k** e **v** e **r** y **t** h **i** n **g**_ f **r** o **m** m **e**.”

Taken by the collar and thrown, Adora lands in desert sand.

“ **Y** o **u** b **r** o **k** e **t** h **e** w **o** r **l** d, **a** n **d** i **t** i **s**. A **l** l. **Y** o **u** r. **F** a **u** l **t**.”

Catra holds her down against the roof of the Sorcery Division headquarters. Adora looks to the side, and sees the portal machine.

“No, it’s not,” Adora says quietly. “I didn’t make you pull the switch. I didn’t make you do _anything._ I didn’t break the world, but I _am_ going to fix it.”

Catra laughs.

Then she’s hit in the side of the head with a length of pipe. She falls to the side, and Angella walks over to her, picks her up by what’s left of her collar, and nonchalantly tosses Catra’s limp form off the roof, to plummet into the void below.

“Thanks for the save,” Adora mutters.

Angella offers her a hand, and raises Adora to her feet.

“Adora, I remember everything. I know this world isn’t our own. How do we undo this?”

Adora turns to the portal machine, but it isn’t.

They are standing in a lush field of purple grass. There is a circular diagram burnt into the ground on a bare patch of dirt, surrounded by hundreds of quartz crystals haphazardly strewn. Eleven red robes lie strewn about.

There’s the faintest after-image hanging in the air, of two silhouettes. One in a heavy cloak and an early model gas mask. Somehow Adora knows this to be Hordak. The other, is evidently Shadow Weaver, who is holding a swaddled infant.

“Start at the beginning,” Adora mutters. “This is where I was stolen, by accident. This is Hordak’s botched portal.”

She looks up at the sky.

There isn’t one.

Instead there is a maelstrom of strange energies, swirling about a single point of light.

“There,” she says. “That is the Aegis of Power. She-Ra’s weapon. I just need to go into the portal and remove it; that will stop all this madness. Everyone comes home safe and sound.”

“And you?” Angella asks. “You are part of ‘everyone’ are you? Or are you going to sacrifice yourself?”

Adora looks away. “Whoever does it will be trapped for eternity. But… It is my destiny to defend Etheria.”

“No. This is not it,” Angella says.

“But it’s the only way,” Adora protests, and her voice almost fails.

Angella knees and looks Adora in the eye. “Adora, I am sorry I have been neglecting the mentoring I once promised you, I think I might have done you some good. That said, do you want to know a secret?”

Adora nods.

“I am a coward.”

In the back of her mind Adora begins to recognize what is about to happen. “What? No…”

Angella turns, and walks a few steps away.

“I have always been the Wise Queen. The Reasonable Diplomat. The one who stayed behind to direct the battles from afar; only ever brave enough to risk others. Micah, he was the brave one. That was what I loved most about him.”

Adora catches up to her. “Your Majesty, please.”

She looks down. “And then Glimmer… Oh my sweet girl. So much like her father. And once again I stayed behind. Letting her make the hard choices and be brave in my stead. I’ve always told myself I was being responsible, but in truth I have always been afraid.”

She turns to Adora. “But you, Adora. She-Ra. You inspired me. Not because of some destiny, or fated greatness, but because you never let fear stop you. Not when you left your friends in the Horde, and not on any occasion thereafter.”

She looks to the sky. “I’ll borrow some of that bravery, if you don’t mind. Perhaps it’s time for the generation to pass.”

Adora takes her hand. “You can’t _do_ this!” she yells.

“One last thing. Micah is alive. Somewhere out there. After all these years. If you can, find him. Find him for Glimmer. Goodbye, Adora. And take care of each other.”

She takes off with a fierce gust of wind, and in seconds cross the vast distance up to the portal.

Adora can barely see, but then there is a discharge of lightning and then a falling star descends. Nay, it plummets.

It strikes the plain like a meteorite, and Adora runs to it.

There in the center of a modest impact crater, lies the spherical form of the Aegis.

Descending into the cater, Adora stumbles and falls, rolling to the bottom in the charred dirt. She scrabbles over to it, and takes it in her hands.

Now the only problem is that She-Ra is shot.

But the remedy is easy. Adora closes her eyes, dips into the starlight, and now it comes like water from a burst dam.

“ _For the Honor of Grayskull, Starlight is Mine to Command._ ”

* * *

There’s a flash of light, and everyone is thrown off their feet.

In the center of the four-part portal engine, stands She-Ra, holding the Aegis.

Flowing to her hand it becomes a wicked-looking sword, ten feet long, and she waves it through the machinery of the portal, reducing it to so much scrap.

Catra is first to her feet, and helps Hordak find his. “We have to go,” she says.

Hordak lunges for a slip of print-out from a very specific printer, and with that in hand, they make their hasty retreat towards the thick cable bundle that hangs from the side of the building, connecting the now broken portal engine to the Black Garnet deep below.

Adora considers pursuit, but today, perhaps of all days, discretion is the better part of valor. There’s still an army on the way below, after all.

She surveys the rooftop; and finding no threat with the technicians and engineers coming to, she goes to her friends.

They are all various levels of dazed, slowly coming out of unconsciousness. Glimmer has hit her head falling, and is bleeding from a gash; Adora tends to it with a mote of starlight.

“We need to go. What’s your exit plan?”

“I have a beacon at home,” Glimmer says. “With a spell, I can teleport to it, almost regardless of distance and load.”

“Good. Get started on that.”

Perfuma is helping Mermista to her feet, Netossa and Spinnerella are tending to a shell-shocked Frosta, and Bow is helping Juliet to her feet while keeping a keen eye on Shadow Weaver.

Adora conjures a rifle, and rounds up the technicians in a corner of the roof while Glimmer draws the diagram necessary.

And then they all teleport home to Brightmoon.


	5. The Queen is Dead, Long Live the Queen

Hordak and Catra convene in a safe-house. Drenched in freezing rain.

Hordak unfurls the wet, crumbled piece of paper, and reads the ink, half washed out by the rain. A thin smile comes to his lips.

“What?” Catra asks.

He flips it for her to see, and taps the blip in the line with a finger. “That is a sub-space ansible connection acknowledgement. That is Horde Prime, my big brother, learning of Etheria’s existence. Of my existence.”

“We won.”

“Indeed.” His smile fades. “But at what cost.”

“Uh. None? So what, your wife is a traitor. Believe me, I know how it feels.” She hands him a towel.

He begins drying his hair. “I highly doubt that.”

“You had a… Dream while the portal was active, right? Or a nightmare?” Catra asks.

He sneers. “Waking from it was the nightmare.”

“Yeah. Well, I dreamt that me and that traitor Adora was together. It was… Surprisingly nice. But it doesn’t change anything; she’s a traitor. So no, I _do_ know how you feel.”

Hordak throws the towel aside, and starts removing his soaked coat.

“We should consider our next step carefully,” Hordak says. “Now, all of Etheria is on the clock; it is only a matter of time until my brother arrives, and in that time-frame we need to conquer Etheria.”

Catra nods. “Was that ever really in question?”

“More so now than ever, I’ll need people I can trust, and people whose actions I can predict. Ironies of ironies, it would seem that you fit that bill.”

Catra snorts.

“Your motives are predictable and boil down to a single person: Adora. And you are too in love with power to ever consider betraying me.”

Catra’s smile fades. “Okay, so you have me dead to rights. What then?”

“I need you to figure out who else fits that bill.”

* * *

They arrive on the Sacred Tower, almost right where they left. It’s a bright sunny afternoon here.

“Okay,” Adora says, reverting to human form. “Is everyone unhurt?”

“Adora,” Netossa says. “I think we’re all wanting to ask the same question: What _happened?_ ”

“Mara made it so a portal could never be opened. When Hordak _did,_ it unleashed ‘raw magic’ — whatever that means. I think everyone was shown some version of a world where their wishes came true.”

Frosta looks up, and wipes her eyes. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, that fits.”

“What did you see, Frosta dear?” Spinnerella asks her.

“Mom and dad. Their ship went down in a sea storm when I was five,” she says, and gets to her feet.

Glimmer comes over to her and puts a hand on her shoulder. “I know how you feel,” she says.

Netossa and Spinnerella share a look. They’ll never tell anyone what they saw, but they will forever in their hearts have holes that will never truly heal.

Perfuma looks over wistfully to the east, where the forest is visible on the horizon.

Mermista is the least fazed, but then she already has happiness and perfection at home, as all new mothers do; the only thing she wanted was more time.

Shadow Weaver is sitting against the wall. “Well, I for one prefer this world. As much being held prisoner is a bore, I shall not fondly remember this reminder of what my condition used to be like.”

“Don’t try to garner sympathy,” Adora says.

“How about you, Adora? What did you see?” Shadow Weaver continues.

“How’s you hand?” Adora shoots back.

Shadow Weaver clutches her discolored hand in the other, remembering for one vivid moment the pain of every bone shattering.

“Let’s get back to the palace,” Glimmer says. “We need to tell the Queen what happened. She’ll be relieved to hear that dark and snarky —” she jabs a thumb at Shadow Weaver “— didn’t double-cross us.”

Adora freezes in horror, and covers her mouth with on hand.

“Adora?” Glimmer asks. “What’s the matter.”

“Oh, Glimmer I am so sorry,” Adora says quietly. “Angella, she…”

Glimmer’s world falls away under her.

* * *

The Queen is declared dead not a day hence. No tracking spell conjured by Mystacor can locate her, or even her remains. More damning yet, studies show that the Moonstone itself has only a singular wielder: Glimmer.

The memorial service swiftly arranged, but beautiful and bittersweet.

And while the news breaking to the public does cause upset, there is a much bigger problem.

People are missing.

The first reports come in from the prisons. Half of their cells have been emptied overnight.

An orphanage in the poorest part of the city finds that two-thirds of the children there are all missing.

The sanatoriums report missing patients. Then one street gang announces that they’ve lost members; mostly their runners — but who cares for a bunch of street kids.

Someone at court tells of her suicidal brother, who likewise vanished.

In the week leading up to the coronation ceremony, reports comes flooding in. From Mystacor, from Alwyn.

A pattern undeniable begins to form.

Whatever the portal did, at least in part, it took away the… Willing. Those for whom the wish fulfillment alternate reality was so much more appealing that they would rather cease existing than return to the real world.

In more uplifting news, the Ash Corridor has vanished. The Whispering Woods are whole, and the sap flows fresh in the trunks, never again to let anyone burn it.

This of course leaves two divisions of the Brightmoon army stranded on the other side, cut off from their supply lines, and one stuck in trenches now overgrown by trees that did not exist the night before. A logistical nightmare, but a solvable one: they have just enough rations for a full retreat.

Snows’ armies will be left to dig in and defend for a while, until Brightmoon can regroup and go by sea instead — plans for which have been lying finished on the drawing board for a while now.

* * *

Adora exits the Princess Suite; Bow and Castaspella are waiting for her.

“Well?” Castaspella asks.

“She’s in a bad place,” Adora says. “But she’ll pull through. She needs some time. I got her to eat a bit, and she’s getting plenty of sleep; perhaps too much.”

“You don’t look like that is good news?” Bow says.

Adora looks up and down the hall. “Let’s go somewhere private.”

Castaspella finds them a storage room, two dozen yards down the hall. Closing the door behind them, she casts a silencing hex on it.

“What’s on your mind?” Bow asks.

“Okay, so, this has been eating me alive. When we— when the whole portal cataclysm was happening; Glimmer’s dad was there, you remember?”

Bow nods.

“I recall as well,” Castaspella.

“What; you do?” Adora asks.

“I was part of that… Dream; whatever it was. He was my little brother, you know?”

“Yeah,” Adora says. “Listen, Castaspella, you can’t tell _anybody_ about this.”

She nods.

“At the end, when the whole world was gone, there was… There was only me and Queen Angella left. She gave her life to close the portal, like Entrapta said would be necessary.”

Adora has to steady herself. _In the end I couldn’t do the impossible._

“And she told me; I think as her last words, or perhaps even dying wish… That Micah is alive.”

Castaspella clicks her tongue. “The notion is patently absurd.”

“Is it?” Adora says. “Because the Mystacor sorcerers were only satisfied that Angella was dead when they examined the Runestone itself. Did you _see_ the corpse? Did anyone?”

“… No.” Castaspella says.

“Are there things out there, places or entities, which could prevent a tracking spell from functioning?”

“Yes, but they are all of them far too dangerous for one man to inhabit alone, let alone for years and decades on end. Even one as powerful as my brother. Searching them all is beyond infeasible.”

Adora nods. “I don’t think I can emphasize enough how much Glimmer cannot know of this. Not now, not while she is in this state.”

“I agree,” Castaspella says.

“We’ll need to tell her at some point,” Bow says.

“Yes,” Adora says.

* * *

There has not been a coronation in Brightmoon in living memory; such is the lot of an immortal Queen.

“Queen Glimmer,” Glimmer says, tasting the words.

She has changed her wardrobe. Gone is the tunics and coats and gambeson coats that only ever reached her mid-thigh, and the bare knees. She’s wearing a dress uniform, much like her mother’s war-time dress. Practical trousers, and the purple mess jacket worn by generals; unadorned.

“Yeah, it’s going to take some getting used to,” Bow says.

Glimmer looks out he window at the Sacred Tower and the Moonstone; now all hers. “I just never thought it was going to happen. She was immortal. I wasn’t. Somewhere deep down, I knew she would outlive me. She did too.”

Adora comes up to her. “Hey, don’t worry. You’ve got me, and Bow. We’ll be beside you all the way. We’ll make sure this day is p— turns out the best it can be.”

 _Perfect._ Adora’s new least favorite word, since the portal incident.

There’s a knock on the door.

“We’re descent!” Glimmer calls out.

Castaspella enters. “Your Majesty; my dear niece. Might I just say you look dashing.”

“I better ought to,” Glimmer says. “They spent a half-hour on my hair alone.”

Her usual unruly rear cow-lick has been brought to heel, somehow. She suspects dark magic. Part of her thinks it looks too… Motherly. Too controlled. The hairdresser assures her she’ll grow to like it.

“As you might have heard, I’ve been appointed by the court to organize the coronation; unqualified though I may be at that. I have consulted the procedures and the histories surrounding your Mother’s ascension to the throne, and I’ve summarily thrown them all aside except for the key elements.”

“What?” Glimmer says.

Castaspella waves a hand. "Listen. We are going to hold an event in the Palace Gardens. You will receive official recognition from Princesses Netossa, Spinnerella, and Perfuma acting in official capacity as representatives of our neighboring cities; as well as other dignitaries.

"After the everyone says their blah-blahs, you lead the procession to the Sacred Tower, where I shall hand you a lantern lit from the eternal flame, you will go into the caverns below and place a flat stone on the stack of flat stones inside, and then emerge as the new Queen. It is nothing to sweat about.

“Then you go before the people in the ante-palatial plaza, they all shout ‘long live Queen Glimmer’ and then you can take the rest of the day off. Sounds good?”

“Uh. Yeah, actually, that’s straightforward. Thank you, Auntie. Don’t I have to give a speech or something?”

Castaspella shrugs. “Do you _want_ to? I so, don’t bother writing one. Your mother has speech-writers on retainer for a reason. I hear they work fast.”

* * *

Scorpia skillfully lands the twin-engine hauler. Unlike the day before, conditions are perfect. She jumps down from the aft door, while the engines begin cooling and creaking.

The two extra fuel tanks slung underneath its wings are almost empty.

Catra is there on the airstrip, wearing a dress uniform, smoking a cigar.

“Hey Catra,” Scorpia says.

“How did it go?” Catra asks.

Scorpia sighs. “It’s done. Though, something strange happened right before we took off…”

Catra back-dates the timeline. “Yeah, that was the portal activation. It did something.”

“Anyway, Beast Island? Totally deserted. Not a soul. Plenty of canned rations though. And the on-site water tanks were full. It’s like everyone just up and left.”

“Hm.”

“Man, that place gave me the creeps; there’s this jungle growing on most of the island, and the penal colony is only a narrow strip on the coast. I swear, that jungle wanted to eat me. I almost wanted to let it.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Catra says. “Everybody knows Beast Island is horrible. That’s why we use it as a penal colony.”

“Say, why are you so dressed up?”

Catra taps her breast insignia. “Sergeant Major General.”

“Oh _wow,_ that’s a promotion if I ever saw one!”

Catra tosses something to Scorpia. She catches it. It’s a pin. Captain First-Class.

“What is going on, Catra?”

“Oh nothing much, I’ve been put in charge of Special Operations. I’ll need you to head Group nine.”

She turns and walks away, and Scorpia jogs to follow. “Okay. So. What are we doing now?”

“Covering our tracks,” Catra says. They arrive at the main administrative building, and Catra heads inside. She flags down a clerk, and points to her insignia. The clerk runs off and returns with a supervisor.

A satyr woman, wearing a pantsuit, and the rank insignia of a Flight Officer.

“I need to speak with you in private,” Catra says.

“Right this way,” the supervisor says, and leads them up the hall to her office, closing the door behind Scorpia and Catra. It is an utterly ordinary office.

“Officer,” Catra says. “I need you to alter some records.”

“That is against regulations.”

Catra nods. “Fine. I’ll simply have you court-martialled for summary insubordination; in war-time, tantamount to treason. Perhaps your replacement will be more able to follow direct orders from the Director of Special Operations.”

The woman pales and stutters. “I apologize, General, I didn’t realize— I mean of course, what ever do you need?”

“You will have records indicating that Captain First-Class Scorpia née Lieutenant here flew out from your airfield —” she looks at Scorpia.

“Two days ago,” Scorpia supplies.

“— and returned today.” Catra finishes. “That _never_ happened.”

“I— I understand.”

“Then make it so. I shall send a subordinate by unannounced at some point in the following week to request records. If I find the Captain in them, your life will be forfeit. Are we clear?”

“Crystal, ma’am.”

“Good. Have a good day,” Catra says, and heads out the door, Scorpia trotting after.

They emerge into open air and Scorpia speaks up: “Thank you. For covering my tracks.”

“We’re in it together, remember?” Catra says. “Listen, I have a meeting with joint command; I need you to go to the SOCOM headquarters—”

“SOCOM?”

“Special Operations Command. That’s where our new offices are. The aides there will get you settled; you’re a group field commander now. I’m still working on filling the field commander posts with people I can trust.”

Scorpia puts a hand on Catra’s shoulder. “Catra, how much have you slept since I’ve been gone?”

“I don’t know. However much my chauffeur has been driving me around.”

 _Show her kindness._ “Listen, Catra, you should take care of yourself,” Scorpia says and steps closer to Catra. “If you burn out now, how are you going to get by in half a year’s time?”

“I’ll be fine,” Catra says, dismissively.

Scorpia lifts her chin up with a finger. “As your girlfriend, I demand that after that meeting is over, you go home and get some sleep.”

Catra rolls her eyes. “My apartment is a mess.”

Scorpia bends down. “Then hire a _maid._ ”

Catra nods, and they keep walking. “Hey, so… I know you made a heat-of-the moment decision, but… We’re not going to leave you-know-who to rot out on you-know-where-island, are we? We’re going to go back and get her at some point, yeah?”

“So Hordak can kill her himself for betraying him? Or if she can get a word in edge-wise, he ca kill _us_ for betraying him instead? I’m going to go with no.”

Scorpia frowns, and makes a mental note to use her new rank to cover her tracks everywhere else she went.

* * *

Beast Island’s penal colony being deserted is just another part of the pattern. Every tent city of deportees, every labor camp, and every industrial town run on pseudo-legal shadow economies of company scrip, all of them report many missing. The prisons are half-emptied, and the rank-and-file soldiery even reports absences.

Army command is very keen on that. Men and women of distinguished age and rank, collected in one place. It’s a wonder civility holds up to it, and bloodshed doesn’t just erupt.

Catra can barely keep her eyes open.

“General Catra, does this discussion bore you?”

Catra looks up. It’s the Air Force Marshal; a Sasquatch woman with uniquely red mane.

“Yes. It does,” Catra says. “We’re at war. We’re losing. There’s a distinct lack of conversation about how we turn that into winning. And that is all I care about.”

“You don’t care about the spontaneous disappearance of _thousands?_ ”

Catra rises. “Honestly? No. From the reports I’ve on hand, what we’re left with is the most motivated soldiers. The killers. The warriors. I’ve just read that a company in the 70th battalion has conducted a training exercise, which despite their somewhat reduced numbers shows a stark increase in combat efficiency.”

“Still, the logistical challenge of replacing key personnel—”

“— is a logistical challenge!” Catra finishes. “Surmountable by its very nature. We already know how to tally the dead and promote replacements. Once the bureaucracy has run its course, we’ll be right back to getting our asses kicked by peasant levies with muzzle-loading rifles.”

There’s silence in the hall.

“Do you see the problem?” Catra says for emphasis. “Do we have _any_ idea why the hell we’re losing to these backwater savages using armed with _black powder_ firearms?”

“Uh, we have some idea, actually,” someone says. A faun woman in civilian clothes, bearing only the logo of the Sorcery Division.

“Ah, you must be the new director of the Sorcery Division,” Catra says. “Say your piece!”

“Well, it would seem the answer is literally magic. Whatever their smiths are doing, the weapons and armor they produce consistently perform far above what they should, owing solely to their material properties. This is why a suit of Brightmoon-made brigandine armor can resist our standard-issue infantry rifle spitzer round, which punches clean through a piece of hardened sheet metal of similar thickness.”

Catra gestures broadly. “See, people? _This_ is progress. Actionable intel. And it underlines what I’ve come to understand all along: this war will be won with weapons technology. The Sorcery Division has already given us the ARW-line, which has unfortunately not proven to be the panacea we had hoped, but still, imagine the carnage if we hadn’t had them. For one, _I_ would be thrice over dead at least.”

“Thank you, General,” the Sorcery Division director says.

“My pleasure. I motion that we pivot this discussion away from the topic of the mysterious cataclysm, and onto the topic of _winning the war._ ” She grabs her glass of wine. “ _For the Horde!_ ”

“ _For the Horde!_ ”

* * *

Glimmer descends the stairs into the moist darkness, carrying the lantern in one hand, and a flat, circular disk of marble in the other.

So far, everything has gone according to plan. She’s given a short speech about how they shouldn’t mourn her mother, but celebrate her memory and legacy; and that she’ll work her very hardest to live up to same, and earn the adoration of the people of Brightmoon. It was all very well put-together, considering how little time her speech writer had to write it.

There was some _hors d’oeuvre_ and wine, light conversation, and Glimmer perhaps had a glass too many. She wasn’t really… Available… During the memorial service, so most of the dignitaries she met today gave their condolences and congratulations at the same time, which is a little awkward.

Down here in the clammy atmosphere, however, she has nothing to distract herself with.

In some ways, Adora was lucky to be orphaned from infancy. Now more than ever, Glimmer needs her mother, and regrets all the times she refused help and advice on what was frankly childish grounds.

She reaches a vestibule chamber, which while hewn from stone by the hands of workmen, is none-the-less stalactites have begun growing on the ceiling. She’ll send some workers down to clean that up.

Past the vestibule, is a natural cavern made entirely of quartz. Glimmer feels the magic of the Moonstone resonate in the crystal formations, which extend far beyond the light of the lantern.

The path meanders through, but the space is anything but claustrophobic. It’s been hard to gauge how far she was underground but with the cathedral-sized space opening up, the answer is ‘at least deep enough to fit this.’

Along paths and stairs carved out pink and purple quartz, she walks further in and further down.

Something moves out the corner of her eye, and she spins. “Hello?!” she calls out.

No answer.

From there she walks on, feeling watched the whole way.

At the bottom of the crystal cave, she comes upon a floor which is a singular facet of crystal, larger than the palace ballroom.

There’s a doorway into a stone corridor at the other end. She heads for it.

And then, from the ceiling, drops _something._ Long, heavy, flexible. It lands behind her.

A long muscular trunk-like body, adorned with two rows of dozens of stubby strong legs; its head holds a single eye, and a maw full of teeth.

Glimmer freezes in fear, just for a moment, and ‘flight’ barely gets a say before ‘fight’ takes over. _You fought an Obtainer, this is just a big worm thing._

But it doesn’t attack. It just watches her, intently, poised to lunge.

Glimmer takes an experimental step backwards towards the opening. The creature opens its mouth to give a hiss that sends globs of spittle flying.

“Okay, I’m not leaving, then,” Glimmer says.

She takes a step towards it, and it stops showing teeth. Another, and it scoots backwards just a bit. Another causes it to move further back, just enough to keep pace.

Glimmer blinks a few steps forwards. The monster doesn’t recoil as expected, but lowers its head to the ground, and slithers closer, walking on its many stubby legs.

“Hey. It’s okay,” Glimmer says. “I’m the Moonstone Wielder.”

She blinks again, just far enough forward for the teleportation envelopes to not overlap. The creature doesn’t react. Then she blinks within arms length, blinks the marble disk onto the floor behind her, and reaches out to touch the big thing.

It lets her.

“So you’re why the punishment for entering the sacred caverns is death, huh? Good to know. But am I allowed to leave now?”

Glimmer starts walking backwards, picking up the marble disk as she goes. Again, once she reaches a dozen steps away from the creature, it begins hissing at her and moving towards her menacingly.

“Okay, enough.”

Glimmer blinks to the stone corridor. The creature lunges for her, but is thankfully too large to do anything other than breathe its horrible stench into the opening.

“Still but a stupid beast made to be only useful enough to justify your existence, huh?”

She turns and walks on, reaching an open chamber.

The walls are roughly hewn, and in the center stands a stack of marble disks, stacked neatly.

Then there’s a presence in the chamber with her. Glimmer turns to see…

Angella. Or at least an illusory vestige of her.

" _Glimmer, if you’re here to see this, it means you’ve come here without me; and I’ve not peacefully abdicated, but rather… Well._

" _You are standing here, before the symbol of all of our forebearers, where they stood as well. The ancient Queens of Brightmoon, dating back to the nameless times of madness. I’m not proud that my stone has laid here for three hundred years untouched and ucovered. I fear perhaps I have overstayed my welcome._

" _Now, my darling, it is your turn. I wish I didn’t have to leave you, for whichever reason I did. I wish I could be there with you, right now, see you for the fine Queen I’m certain you’ve grown to be._

" _Regrets aside, I have faith. Faith that you will be all right. Because you are my daughter, your father’s daughter, and if you’ve even half the mettle and strength as you are now, compared to what I’ve seen in you every day since you were born, then you are more than well on your way._

" _I have done my best to prepare you to rule, though I fear too little still. But it matters not, because you were always ready to lead, and though you may feel you lack wisdom the remedy for that is simply to let time pass._

“ _I will always be proud of you, Glimmer. And I will always love you._ ”

And then it fades like mist.

There’s a crack, reverberating in the now-silent space.

Glimmer looks down to see the stone disk broken in three on the floor.

“Oh _no!_ ” she says, “ _no-no-no!_ ”

She falls to her knees and the tears flow free. What kind of queen is she ever to be if she cannot even put a stone on a pile. She tries to fit the broken pieces together, but it doesn’t really work, and she doesn’t know a mending spell.

So she sits there, sniffling and sobbing until her self-pity runs out. The lantern is growing dim as well, it’s oil reserve running low.

Glimmer slaps herself on the cheeks. “Okay, _Sparkles_ what do you do now?”

She looks around the chamber. Examining the floor reveals it to actually be black marble. The whole chamber is. The disc she was carrying is white marble, from a distant quarry, but the underground of Brightmoon is plentiful in the black stuff.

Glimmer leaves the white disc where it is, in pieces, and blinks to the wall. There she puts a hand on the rough stone, and expends a not insignificant amount of power on first slicing off the rough outer layer, then extracting a perfect squat cylinder of black marble. Even more polished than the white one she brought with her down.

Not trusting her hands again, she blinks it directly onto the stack in the center of the room. She puts the lantern on top there as well.

Then she returns the way she came, by the light of spellcraft rather than tamed flame, to a waiting monster. It hisses at her.

She conjures the Second Flame of Elm and douses it in sticky liquid fire.

It recoils, yowling in agony, and Glimmer exits the stone hallway into the crystal cave, now lit by both her spell, and the flames covering the squrming monster.

Its gigantic tail attempts to crush her, but she blinks away. A stupid beast. She’ll come down here some other time and destroy it properly. Her daughter is never going to have to contend with such horrors just to perform the rites of succession.

* * *

Hordak’s personal workshop adjoins the chancellorial suite. The space is expansive, dark, and full of half-finished projects, covered in dust.

Hordak himself is standing by a drawing desk, resting his upper-body weight on his knuckles. The paper in front of him is blank.

Catra knocks on the door-frame.

“Hey, Hordak,” Catra says.

“Get out, Catra,” he says. “How did you even get past my guards?”

“Does it matter? I’ve been atttending command meetings. Your continued absence is beginning to be notable.”

“I’m… Not in the mood for the inane politicking of my generals, Catra. I thought that was what I ordered you to do.”

“Mood, Hordak?” She giggles. “Mood is good enough for lovemaking and fiddling. When there’s a war, you fight.”

Hordak sighs. He is _not_ in the mood.

Catra enters and kicks over some device or other as she passes it. “Oh, you ordered me all right. And I have been inanely politicking. I’ve found trustworth people to fill the roles of field commanders for all the Special Operations Groups.”

“What do you want, Catra?” By which he means ‘how do I get rid of you?’

“I don’t want anything, Hordak. Except the one thing you have that is of any value to me.” She comes up to him, and puts a clawed finger on his forehead. “All the secrets and sadistic brilliance locked away in this brain of yours. If not for that, you’d already be dead.”

Catra notes one thing in Hordak’s favor. He is _very_ quick on the draw stroke with that pistol of his. “Don’t tempt me to further; restraining myself from shooting you where you stand is already hard enough,” he growls.

She laughs. “Inside, please.”

Nine soldiers enter the room, pointing submachine guns at him and Catra. Catra takes three steps back, and folds her arms behind her.

“Are you ready to listen?” Catra says.

“When I am finished with you, Catra—”

“You’ll what? Sic assassins on me? Hordak, do you know why the last coup failed? Because you were at the absolute top of your game, and the people behind it were over-promoted half-wits.”

She purrs. “Unfortunately for you, I’m at least halfway smart, and your grief has blinded you. Made you trusting. If I don’t get what I want, you’re not walking out of here.”

Hordak throws the pistol aside, and rubs a hand over his face. “Fine. Fuck. You win.”

"Hey, cheer up, boss man. You said it yourself: big, bad Horde Prime got your message. Don’t you want to conquer Etheria before he gets here? He doesn’t sound to me like the type to accept failure.

“Let me let you in on a little secret: I don’t _want_ to be Supreme Chancellor. And you know what, I think neither do you. Why don’t we make a deal: I get the military, you get the rest.”

Hordak snickers. “And anytime you don’t like my conduct you can just strong-arm me?”

“That’s the idea, yeah.”

“It does not seem like I have much choice.”

“No, you don’t. Now get back to work. We need to sort out what the portal incident did to our economic base. I can’t wage your war on empty coffers.”


	6. With a Heart of Stone, Who Needs Friends?

Her apartment is neat. Perhaps too neat. She comes here to sleep once or twice in a week. Otherwise she’s either sleeping in officer’s quarters, or not at all. This new stimulant the army apothecaries have gotten their hands on is quite effective.

The nightmares aren’t exactly making her more amenable to getting rest.

Catra sits in her bed, and in the darkness, lets her mind wander.

Scorpia’s usually one to help her calm down on bad nights, but Scorpia is getting Group nine in order. Scorpia can be trusted. That much is certain by now.

Lonnie has grown into the role of commanding officer quite nicely which goes to show that being ‘behind’ herself and someone like that traitor Adora, is really being ahead of most everyone else, and she has accepted to head Group eight. Lonnie is loyal to the cause and her subordinates, if not to her.

On Scorpia’s recommendation, Group seven is now under the command of Captain Octavia. Octavia has a gambling problem and steadily accrues debt.

That just leaves six more chairs to seat with people who are both smart, and either trustworthy, loyal, or blackmail-able. Brigadier General Cobalt is very loyal, but also not the brightest — perhaps put him in Group two for procurement and administration? Could work.

But that’s just politics.

As was the ‘coup’ if there is such a thing as a coup that leaves the king still king. Hordak is simply too useful, too good at civic organization — war was never his strong suit, as much is obvious if you know the man, or read between the lines in the military histories.

His mishandling of the last coup attempt left alive only those too stupid to not be swayed by his personal charisma, or those too smart to join in on such a foolish venture. With his being director of SOCOM, his counter-coup was almost guaranteed to succeed.

Then he let the stupid generals stew without a steady dose of his charisma, and the smart ones to realize that he was too dangerous to leave in power.

Like stealing candy from a child…

Catra has strong-armed the field marshal into taking a general retreat from the West. It is much more pressing to defend the East from Candila’s advance. The fleets have been recalled, and lies waiting in harbor while the Salinean and Candilan fleets patrol the waters outside of artillery range.

They need a miracle, if they are going to win this, and Hordak needs to provide it.

Catra gets out of bed, gets dressed, and heads down to her officer’s car, and drives to uptown, where the Chancellorial mansion awaits. There’s nobody on the street at this hour, except patrolling officers who are all too happy to let a general go about her business in the middle of the night.

The Chancellorial mansion is a large affair, containing not only the living quarters, and the workshop, but also a ballroom, a banquet venue, and a winter garden in an atrium.

Ostentatiousness given physical form.

Catra enters unimpeded by the gate guards, and heads to the workshop; lights are on there, and her spies reports that Hordak spends virtually all his time there. He sleeps twenty minutes every four hours.

She knocks on the door frame, and Hordak doesn’t jump, but his ears flick.

“Catra,” he says, without turning around.

“Hordak, I feel like we’ve been here before…”

The workshop is in disarray. There’s clearly been an attempt at creating order. A fabricator has been moved here, along with some improvised computer tech reminiscent of Entrapta’s sprawling compositions of wire and screens. Workbenches has been moved together, and machines have been used if the piles of metal swarf are anything to go by.

Hordak spins on his chair. “ _What do you want, Catra?!_ You’re asking me for a ‘miracle?’ Are you mocking me?!”

“I’m not.”

Hordak has brought the public to heel. He has given moving speeches, encouraged industry magnates to lenience, headed memorial services for the disappeared, and planned out a transition to a new economic organization focused on supporting the military.

Catra walks up to him. “Do not mistake my candor for an insult. We _need_ nothing less than a miracle, or we are _going to loose the war._ ”

Hordak slumps, and turns to his workbench. On it lies a carbine of sorts, intricately constructed from a metal too light to be steel and some kind of plastic. It is reminiscent in design of the submachine guns coming off the factories these days, except the construction is much finer, and the magazine is too deep for pistol cartridges. On top of the receiver sits a short sharpshooter’s scope. The hand guard is a folding bi-pod.

Next to it sits a squat rifle cartridge with an unusually long bullet, silver-tipped.

“What’s this?” Catra asks. She picks it up.

“It’s nothing. A self-loading rifle capable of automatic fire. Effective range should be around a thousand yards, to negate the advantage of Runestone Wielders like the Snows Princess. Optimized for fabricator-based mass production.”

Catra shoulders it. “It’s beautiful. It is also irrelevant.”

Hordak doesn’t reply.

“I’ve spoken to the Weapons Division. They’ve gotten their hands on She-Ra’s carbine weapon; it is of First-Ones’ origin. The Advanced Manufacturing Division is ready to start mass-producing them, along with the armor suit we also captured from She-Ra. And the Sorcery Division have worked with them to use fabricators to produce ARW at ten times current capacity.”

“Are they now. Wonderful,” he says tonelessly. “We can close down the trials for the next infantry rifle…”

“Hey,” Catra says. “Do yourself a favor and take a break. Go eat something — do you even eat food? Or take this wonderful new rifle you’ve made down to the firing range and test it. Take this whole thing as a… Let’s call it ‘warmup’ for the real thing. Yeah? We have time; not a lot; but if we don’t use a little of it on ourselves, we’re never going to win the war.”

He rises and stretches; a faint whirring of servos can be heard from his cybernetics. “I suppose.” He takes a deep breath. “I have a task for you, if you have time, of some sensitivity.”

“Yes?”

“I’ve unfortunately fallen woefully behind on mine and… I’ve fallen behind on the technical minutiae of the projects I’ve been heading. I need you to locate Entrapta’s notes — I know she practised extensive note-taking, and I find myself in need of her insights on First-Ones’ tech.”

Catra jabs him lightly on the shoulder. “See? That’s what I like to hear.”

* * *

Bow’s communicator voices an alert.

“`Incoming video call from Guest Melissa.`”

He digs through his toruser pocket for the palm-sized screen, and holds it up in front of him. “Hey Melissa, what can I do for you this time?”

The screen opens to Milissa’s face being pressed up against the screen. “How does this thing work?” she says. “I only just got the hang of the hand-held one…”

“Stand back a little,” Bow says. “The big screens turn off if your face is too close.”

She does. “Oh, there you are. Hello, Bow!”

“I take it you’re not just calling to talk?” Bow asks. To starve off the creeping insanity that loneliness brings, Melissa has been talking to him regularly. They’ve become passable pen-pals; only with video calls instead of letters.

Melissa steps forward, and grabs the screen on her end, turning it to face another screen. This one displaying a view from one of the external cameras of the ship.

There, standing in the sand, is Huntara.

“She can’t get in. Could you give her Guest permissions?”

“Sure,” Bow says. “Ask the ship to send me a request.”

“Okay, I’ll call you back,” Melissa says, and reaches out to push a button. The sceen on Bow’s communicator turns blank.

“Who was that, Bow?” Lance asks, poking his head out the kitchen door.

Bow holds up the communicator. “A friend, half a world away.”

“Ah. Incredible, that First-Ones’ tehcnology.”

Bow’s communicator beeps, and he takes it out, pressing the ‘authenticate’ button. He leans back once more to enjoy the sun. It’s rare that he gets to take a day off like this, especially now that Glimmer has promoted him to Corps Captain for the Southern Woods, and Ranger liaison to Plumeria. There’s a _lot_ of paperwork, and not a lot of ranging out.

Huntara returning alive is a relief, but not an unconditional one.

Wait. There was a lot of light in the control room.

His communicator acts up again, a few minutes later, and he picks it up to Huntara with Melissa hanging around her neck, beaming. She is holding a transparent bottle of water, half empty.

“Master Bow. Good news, your flying ship is no longer buried!”

Bow jacknifes forward. “ _What?!_ ”

“You were absolutely right that there was a Runestone out there. And I _found_ it. And wouldn’t you know? I was _right_ all along.”

“Holy shit, you’re a _Runestone Wielder_?” Bow asks. He’s on his feet already, grabbing his cloak, and moving for speeder.

“I am. And I just unearthed your flying ship. You’re _welcome._ ”

Bow runs a hand through his hair. “All right, uh,” he says. “Ship? Swift Wind?”

The screen on his communicator splits. One showing Huntara and Melissa, the other showing an abstract representation of Swift Winds’ custodian personality construct.

“`Hello.`”

“Can you fly?”

“`Auto pilot is fully operaitonal, liftoff impedance is within tolerance.`”

“So you can fly to Brightmoon?”

“`Plotting course... Ready for takeoff.`”

“Okay, hold that. Huntara, Melissa…”

Melissa looks at Huntara. “What do you say, love? Honeymoon in Brightmoon?”

Huntara looks at Melissa, then back at the screen showing Bow. “Master Bow, so long as we can get a lift back to Yelsie sometime, I will be more than happy to come along and see this ‘Brightmoon’ place.”

“Ship? Fly to Brightmoon. Gently. I’ll find a landing zone.”

“`Estimated time to arrival: one hour, fifteen minutes.`”

“See you then,” Bow says, and shuts off the call.

* * *

“Oh my,” Melissa says. “Whatever are we going to do in the mean time?”

Huntara dips her and they kiss passionately.

* * *

Scorpia’s second office phone rings. The secure line.

“Hello?” she says, tentatively.

“ _Scorpia._ ”

“Catra, hi! What can I do, _Director_?”

“ _I have a problem I need your help with. You worked pretty closely with Entrapta, right?_ ”

“I… Did. Yeah. Yeah I did.”

“ _Could you go and find her notes? Hordak needs them. And be discreet._ ”

Scorpia’s stomach sinks.

“Oh. Ah. Sure, no problem. I’ll just finish up here and go to over Advanced Manufacturing right away.”

“ _See to it. Victory hangs in the balance._ ”

Scorpia hangs up, and has to forcibly stop her hands from shaking.

She knows exactly what notes Catra is speaking of, because…

Well, there’s a reason she transported Entrapta to Beast Island in a two-engine hauler instead of a faster monopropeller fighter.

She is brave, strong, loyal, and… Her heart is not a cold rock. Unlike perhaps Catra’s. Even now, she wakes sometimes at night, Entrapta’s parting words echoing in her head.

_You’ve been a good lab partner, Scorpia._

No judgement for her carrying out Catra’s monstrous order. Then she left Entrapta there on the airstrip with a fabricator, a refiner, a power-generator, a crate of data crystals, all her notes, and her old wig. In the aftermath of the portal, it had been easy to sneak in and get it all.

Scorpia rubs her face. Then she stands, exits the building, and gets in a car.

Now is the time to forge some evidence. And she knows exactly how Entrapta would dispose of her notes; she even knows what brand of notebook she used.

* * *

Bow storms into the throne room, and brushes directly past the duke of Erelandia currently in audience with Queen Glimmer.

He hops up the steps to the floating throne, and bends down to Glimmer’s ear.

“ _What is it?_ ” Glimmer whispers.

“ _Huntara is back. She’s a Runestone Wielder. She has unearthed Mara’s spacecarft. It is on its way here as we speak._ ”

Glimmer stands. “Duke Erlan,” Glimmer says. “I apologize, but I must attend to urgent matters of national security. We shall resume this conversation at a later point.”

The Duke, a thirty-something human; oddly, for a city with a plurality of fungifolk; is clearly flustered. “Very well, Your Majesty.”

Glimmer takes Bow’s hand and blink them both to a hallway.

“ _Thank_ you for that,” Glimmer says.

“What was that about in there?” Bow asks.

“Oh nothing, just a significantly older man who is asking for my hand in marriage.”

Bow blinks. “ _What?_ ”

“Anyway, let’s go tell Adora,” she says. Then she knocks on the door right next to them.

Adora opens the door wearing only a sleeveless undershirt and trousers. Bow kind of envies how well she takes to strength training, compared to him. Glimmer just likes the view.

“Huntara is back, she’s a Runestone Wielder, she dug up the ship, and it is coming here,” Glimmer says.

Adora blinks. “Holy shit!” Then she’s running for her red jacket, and jumps on one leg to get on her boots. “Where is it landing?”

“I haven’t specified a landing site,” Bow says. “We need something wide and open.”

“I know a spot,” Glimmer says.

Then she puts a hand on each of their shoulders and blinks them six miles away, into an open field on the moors north of Brightmoon.

“How in the—” Adora mutters.

“Since being the only wielder of the Moonstone, I’ve become a lot more powerful,” Glimmer says. “I think I could manage teleporting us virutally anywhere on the planet right now.”

Adora looks at Glimmer for a beat, amazed. “So, what now?”

“Now we wait,” Bow says.

Five minutes later, a glowing dot appears in the sky.

Bow takes out his communicator. “Call Swift Wind,” he says.

“`Hello.`”

“Land near me.”

“`Affirmative.`”

The dot changes directions and starts coming for them. It’s a little bit unnerving. It resolves into the triple-lozenge silhouette of the spacecraft, and just when it seems it is coming in much too fast, does its underside glow blindingly bright, and it brakes down hard.

It comes to a stop over the moor, and extends ten piston-like legs on feet the size of twin horse carraiges side-by-side, and then one of the pylon like things on the back of the ship, the same kind that stuck out of the desert sands, descends from the rear section and makes contact with the ground, opening its doors to an elevator cabin.

“Shall we, o’ daughter of Mara?” Glimmer asks.

Adora goes forward first, under the belly of the ship, to the elevator.

* * *

Scorpia arrives at the agreed-upon drop-off location in a truck.

Catra is standing there, smoking, next to the car Scorpia os suppposed to drive away in.

Scorpia exits the cab. “Catra.”

“Hey Scorpia,” Catra says. She looks even more tired that she did last time they spoke.

Scorpia too is beiginning to feel how staying up late to do paperwork and then rising early in the morning to exercise isn’t doing her any favors.

“So,” Scorpia says. “Small problem. By which I mean: _big_ problem.”

“ _What?_ ” Catra snaps. Scorpia leads her around to the back of the truck, and opens it to reveal two-dozen buckets, full of wet notebooks.

Catra hops up into the truck bed. “What’s this, Scorpia?” Catra says with barely contained anger.

“I think she had a failsafe in place,” Scorpia lies. “Nobody at the AM Division wants to fess up, I asked around. Someone put her notebooks in buckets and doused them in lye. The ink is slightly acidic, so… Completely unrecoverable. Someone reduced her personal computer to scrap as well; but that had already been recycled.”

“Lye?” Catra says.

“Yeah. Unlike when you burn them, it makes no smoke.”

“No. No-no, this can’t be.” With her left hand, she plunges into the mixture and takes one of the books out, putting the soaked paper on the ground. She flips it open.

Nothing.

Conspicuously.

“Scorpia, are you _sure_ this is Entrapta’s notebooks?”

Scorpia hesitates just a moment too long to answer “Yeah.”

“If Entrapta disappeared after the portal incident, why did her ‘failsafe’ wait so long before destroying her notes?”

“What do you mean?”

“Lye dissolves paper, not just ink. This should be pulp. You’re _lying._ ”

Scorpia backs up a step. “Okay! Fine! Listen: nobody can find Entrapta’s notes, okay? I figured we could sell Hordak another lie, save our asses! Yeah?!”

Catra hops down from the truck bed. “I don’t know why I expected anything different,” she says, as much to herself as Scorpia. "I send you off to do _one_ thing. One _simple_ little, mission critical thing. And you come back with _nothing._ Less than nothing.

“Right now? I’m not _worried about hordak!_ ” she shouts. “I’m worried about _losing the fucking war!!!_ ”

Catra throws her hands in the air. “But no! It’s like you’re fucking cursed; eveyrthing I put you on, you mess up. How can you _possibly_ be this useless.”

Scorpia forwns. “Hey, that’s not fair, I—”

“Next time? Let me think of the cover-up story. You idiot.”

Scorpia looks down. “Don’t shoot the messenger, Catra.”

“I will when the messenger lies to my open face.”

“You know what?” Scorpia says. “You’re a bad girlfriend sometimes.”

“You’re not exactly stellar yourself,” Catra bites back.

“Then why do you put up with me?” Scorpia asks.

Catra laughs menacingly. “Oh, so we’re doing this now? You know, I don’t know. It’s not like you have time to do the one thing I need you to do.”

“Hey, you’re the one who put me in charge of Group Nine! That’s a lot of work, I’m sorry I can’t make time to satisfy you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you!”

“Scorpia, dear sweet Scorpia. Why do you think I want to be cared for? I just want someone hot to fuck my brains out. I can get that anywhere.”

“Fine. Then do. We’re done,” Scorpia says. She turns and goes over to the waiting car, gets in, and drives away.

“See you at work tomorrow!” Catra yells after her with a smile on her face. The smile fades. Then it becomes a frown. And then a scowl. Her ear flicks in annoyance. She gets in the cab of the truck, and drives to the Chancellorial mansion.

* * *

“Hey, Hordak.”

Hordak has moved his office to his workshop. Catra is wondering when he’ll move his bed there too.

“Catra, how expedient” Hordak says. “Did you bring Entrapta’s notes?”

“Yes and no. She destroyed her notes before leaving. I have the remains in a truck parked outside, but at first blush, unrecoverable.”

Hordak sits for a moment, and Catra refrains from asking him for a response.

Then he flips his desk over, sending the heavy wooden table flying across the workshop with a bellow.

He stomps over to a workbench and with both arms rakes everything on it on the floor. With a roar, he grabs hold of the workbench itself, rips it from where it is bolted to the floor and hurls the mass of wood and steel past Catra where it destroys the wall.

Catra _very pointedly_ does not flinch.

Hordak heads to his drawing board, and stands by it, in front of that enemy of creativity that is the blank canvas, and rests his hands on it, sulking.

“Oh would you get over yourself,” Catra says.

Hordak’s ears flutter. He turns to look at her, fangs bared.

“You don’t _need_ Entrapta. You never _did._ You don’t _need_ a _Princess_ in your life, telling you _what to do!_ ” She gestures towards the broad windows, towards Capital. “ _Look at what you’ve done_ without her. For ninety years you built the greatest nation this world has ever _seen._ The greatest _military:_ a war machine driven by the most advanced factories, producing the most powerful weapons ever seen! And you did it all while sick and frail!”

She steps forward. “You and me, we don’t need _anybody._ ” Her voice cracks. “Forget them all, none of them matter! Nothing matters! Except _winning the war._ ”

Hordak steps towards her, his sneer now a scowl. He towers over her. Looms.

“You want to prove yourself? Prove your _worth?_ Then grit your teeth and sacrifice that fucking ego of yours.” She points at him, panting. “Make me a damn miracle! And then you and I? We’re going to conquer Etheria. And then they will _all see!_ ”

Hordak looks to the side. His pupil-less eyes betraying no sign of the ideas springing forth before his mind’s eye. “I’ll have your damn miracle,” he says. “And then you will conquer me the world.”

“I’m glad we have an accord,” Catra says, and holds out a hand. “Partner.”

He takes it. His grip is strong. “Partner.”

* * *

“Now we can get some archaeologists and sorcerers to take a look at all of this in detail,” Glimmer says, as they walk through the halls of Swift Wind.

“Or you can let me decide what happens to _my_ ship,” Adora says.

“What?” Glimmer says.

Adora blinks. “Sorry, that came off a little harsh. Swift Wind is mine; and it was Mara’s. I’m not saying it doesn’t have academic interest, or that it doesn’t hold secrets that could help the war effort just… I’d like to decide the pace.”

“That’s fair,” Glimmer says. “So long as it happens.”

“Also, you two spent longer here than I ever did,” Adora says.

They reach the Control Center, and find there, Melissa and Huntara, primly dressed and by their wet hair, freshly bathed.

“And here we have them,” Huntara says.

“Hey Bow! Good to see you in person!” Melissa says.

Huntara steps forward, towards Glimmer. “Princess—”

“Queen, actually,” Glimmer corrects.

Huntara bows deeply. “My apologies your Majesty, and I assume, condolences?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Huntara stands straight. “As the wielder of the Runestone in the Wastes, which I am tentatively calling the Stone Heart, I would like to pledge my allegiance to the Brightmoon cause. I am no friend of the Horde, and if you will have me, I shall be happy to help.”

Glimmer holds out her hand, palm down. Huntara takes it and kisses her signet ring.

“Huntara of the Crimson Wastes, I shall happily accept your allegiance. You have already done a great deal for us by unearthing She-Ra’s spacecraft,” Glimmer says. "And now, let’s drop the formalities.

Huntara sighs. “Thank you, Queenie.”

“Not that much.”

“Sorry, your Majesty.”

“Hey, uh,” Adora says. “It occurs to me that we never actually had a proper debrief after the incident in the desert, since you know, rescue mission, the portal, succession… So how about we take a second to sit down and talk?”

“I second that,” Bow says.

Huntara and Melissa both give a thumbs up.

“Very well,” Glimmer says. “Let’s pull up some chairs. The longer I can legitimately spend away from court the better.”


	7. Elberon, Fallen

“When I came in here,” Adora says, “the first thing I saw was a mummified corpse sitting in the Captain’s chair. Then the custodian informed me that it was Mara, my mother, and that the ship was mine by her last will and testament.”

“So legally it’s actually yours,” Glimmer notes.

“Yeah, what did you think I meant?”

She shrugs.

“Anyway, Mara left me a message, and that message is… Mara,” Adora says. “Or a version of her, that’s like Light Hope, in that she’s not ‘real’ and also bound to a place.”

“So you met your mom,” Bow notes. “How was it?”

“It was… Nice,” Adora says. She holds up a hand and calls on the Starlight, which flows easily now once more. “Between her and…” she turns to Glimmer. “Your mother said some things before she… And…” The starlight winks out.

“And what?” Glimmer says.

“I wanted to spare you the grief of telling you her last words, and then the coronation happened, and then we were dealing with the aftermath of the portal — I haven’t had the chance to talk to you.”

Glimmer rubs her eyes. “Thank you, Adora, for not piling on. I’d like to hear it, but let’s stay on topic, then we can talk in private after.”

“Glimmer, are you sure you’re okay?” Bow asks.

“I’m fine. I have to be. I’m the Queen now.”

Bow and Adora exchange looks.

“So,” Adora continues. “I spoke to Mara. Well, first I hugged her and cried. She told me what my ‘destiny’ is.” Her expression sours. “Or rather, what the First-Ones intended. That, I also think is a topic for private conversation. We need to figure out how secret to keep it.”

She looks to Huntara.

“I understand,” Huntara says. “We’re not worthy of your trust yet. No offence taken.”

“Then Mara told me that because of _that_ she had imprisoned Etheria and Sola inside a bubble of space, separate from the wider universe, and put up a wall of raw magic to make sure that if anyone ever managed to open a portal, the world would be destroyed. Then Mara ran out of time, and I haven’t spoken to her since, because she won’t remember any of it and…”

“Just like Razz. You didn’t talk to her much before she got better from your healing,” Bow says.

Adora nods. “Then I wanted to make you administrators, and found out that you had been ambushed.”

“Yeah,” Huntara says. "I want to apologize about that. When we roved out, shortly after a low-life friend of mine by the name of Tung Lashor came into Yelsie, and laid siege to my house with Melissa still inside of it, took most of my people hostage and killed the rest.

“Apparently that Catra friend of yours—”

Adora is just about to protest, but Huntara waves her down. "I know she’s not literally your friend. Notice how I just called the guy who burned my house down ‘friend’ too?

"This Catra then strolled right up and challenged him to single combat, slew him with his own sword, and just took over his crew. She went after us, and while I was keeping night watch, sent Melissa to convince me to betray you, which I’ll admit wasn’t hard.

“So, really by now, I’m trying to make up for that. There’s nothing like almost dying to find one’s destiny in the desert to restore one’s sense of honor.”

Glimmer snickers. “If you keep it up, I might give you a knighthood.”

Huntara rubs her chin. “What do you think, Mel? Huntara: Knight of Brightmoon?”

“It has it’s charm,” Melissa says, and giggles.

Bow leans forward. “So, the ambush. There was forty-something of them, and only three of us. Catra made sure to take Glimmer out first with a poison dart.”

Glimmer looks away. “Good for her; I’d have killed them all,” she mutters.

“Yeah. Which is why she did it. You still managed to blink yourself, me, and Juliet to relative safety, so in my book you’re a hero.”

Glimmer blushes.

Bow continues: "So we fought. I think we managed to get thirteen of their number, before Catra snuck up on us. We were no match for her in close quarters. The rest we all know. After we got onto the ship, we waited for Glimmer to recover, and took some time to rest. I let Melissa and Huntara in, and Huntara took some supplies and roved out to find the Runestone.

“We spent about a day and a half just trying to figure out what you’d learned from talking to Mara — we didn’t even know you had talked, we could just see there was a message for you, which we couldn’t read.”

“Sorry,” Adora interjects. “I didn’t have much time.”

“Glimmer did the lions share of piecing it together, that opening a portal was _bad._ But of course we didn’t know that Hordak was about to do it on the same day as our rescue mission.”

“Yeah,” Glimmer says. “Look, elephant in the room, I got Shadow Weaver to help me because she was the only one who could do all the things we needed. Her help has not won her any privileges,” she says to Adora. "But she is an asset, and I am not above using the assets at my disposal.

“With a ritual of hers, we teleported through the waygate to Capital, and used a — what was that big gun Juliet used called?”

“`Gravitron Beam Emitter, Anti-Materiel Rifle, Toha-Zev.`” the ship supplies.

“That,” Glimmer says. “Shadow Weaver has a tracking spell that can find those Runestone suppressor devices, and Juliet just shot them through the walls. From there, we just had to backtrack through the sewers — which I admittedly wasn’t conscious for the first time — to find you. The rest, you know.”

They sit for a bit and digest it.

“All right,” Huntara says. “Melissa and I are going to go take some air, and feel grass under our feet for the first time in years and years.”

They get up and head for the door. Melissa waves on the way out.

“So,” Bow says. “Heavy stuff?”

Adora nods. “Look, that portal stuff, it’s still messing with my head. Remember when you told me I shouldn’t sacrifice myself?”

They both nod.

“I… I was going to do that anyway. And I’m really sorry about that.”

Bow puts a hand on her shoulder.

"But Angella came. The world fell away into nothing, and then… I guess Catra was there? We fought. She was winning, and telling me all these horrible things. Angella came to my rescue and threw Catra into the void.

“Then… Then we were in the field where Hordak first tried to open a portal with sorcery and got _me_ instead. And up in the sky was the Aegis. And I said to her I’d have to go save everyone and then —” Adora tears up “— she asked if I was about to save myself too, or just everyone else.”

“Yep, that’s mom,” Glimmer says, with a lump in her throat.

“Then she said to me that she wanted to tell me a secret, which I’m now gonna spill like an idiot.” Adora wipes her eyes. “That she had been a coward her whole life. Always letting other people fight for her, like your dad, and now you, Glimmer.”

Adora hangs her head. “She said I inspired her to be brave. And just before she took off she said—”

“What?” Glimmer asks.

Adora shakes her head. “Nothing. She said nothing, I— I could see she wanted to say something, but she didn’t,” Adora lies.

Glimmer looks away, and wipes her eyes.

“I like her, you know. She was a little bit like a mother to me, or she tried to be, at least,” Adora says.

Glimmer takes a deep breath. “Custodian? Can we get a drink in here? Lightly alcoholic.”

Within moments, Emily arrives with a hovering tray of refreshments.

Glimmer pours three glasses of whatever fruity wine the ship supplies by default. She hands one to Bow and Adora.

“To Queen Angella,” she says, somberly, and they drink a toast, and hold a moment’s silence in her honor.

“What was your dreams like?” Glimmer asks. “You both saw mine.”

“I was in my birth city, Alexandria. It— it was wiped off the map by the Horde in the last conquest. So with no Horde, I was just… Living life, being a historian bachelor. Nothing interesting, until Adora just appeared and made me remember.”

Glimmer looks at Adora.

Adora blushes. “Uh, I was in the Horde. And we were winning, which isn’t actually what _I_ want, and I guess it helped me realize it was all a dream. That and I usually notice all the boring parts of life because I _hate_ boredom. I got Princess Scorpia to remember too, and she flew me to Capital where the Nothing began.”

“Well, if it wasn’t what _you_ wanted, whose dream were you in?” Glimmer asks.

Adora blushes harder, and it is not the good kind. “Catra’s. We… I— Glimmer, please don’t take this the wrong way, but Catra and I were together and, we — you know — and it was _amazing._ ”

Glimmer giggles. “Why would I take it the wrong way? You _got some!_ So what if it was you nemesis.”

“I— You’re not jealous?”

Glimmer shrugs. “I never understood why people would be jealous just because their partners go off an have sex with someone else; I mean if it causes them to leave, sure that’s bad, but if all it does is strengthen their relationship? I don’t see the problem. You’re not going to run off to the Horde chasing after Catra, are you?”

“ _No!_ ” Adora says, recoiling.

“You were jealous of me and Perfuma at the Ball,” Bow says.

“That was because I was afraid you’d stop being friends with me; Perfuma is the Princess of your home region, and all that forest-stuff. I live in a palace, for goodness’ sake.”

Bow smiles warmly. “I’m very honored you value our friendship that highly.”

“All right, weird dream shit aside,” Glimmer says. “Let’s talk national security. What did Mara tell you?”

Adora almost gets whiplash from Glimmer’s ability to change the subject and mood sometimes.

“The First-Ones… I’m beginning to realize they were bad people,” Adora says. “According to Mara, they constructed a weapon that is powerful enough to destroy the entire universe, which sits at the center of the planet. Light Hope is in control of it, but it needs She-Ra to activate. That is She-Ra’s ‘destiny,’ what Light Hope is working towards.”

“Shit,” Bow says. “I understand why you wouldn’t want to say that in front of Huntara and Melissa. That is some sensitive intel.”

Glimmer frowns. “What is Light Hope going to do with it?”

Adora shrugs. “Well, if there were any First-Ones’ left, she’d probably follow orders, but as it stands she is going to destroy the ‘enemies of the First-Ones’ whatever that means.”

“That could be anyone,” Glimmer says. “Do we even know?”

“To my knowledge they didn’t have any,” Bow says. “The First-Ones were very powerful, at least if their own writings on it are to be believed.”

Worrying.

“While on the topic of national security; there’s more,” Adora says. “I saw Hordak’s _other_ project.”

“Of course he has more than one,” Glimmer says.

“It was a big warehouse full of First-Ones’ machines that could build things… I think it was the one Catra stole way back when; and from what I could see they were building more of them. That’s what we’ve been seeing in the library.”

“Did they have like spidery legs that built things?” Bow asks.

“Yeah, why?”

“The ship has one too. It’s called a fabricator.”

“Shit; Hordak has hundreds of them.”

Worrying indeed.

* * *

There’s celebration in the streets when Brightmoon’s field army comes marching home. It has been a dangerous trek back through the woods, aided by as many Rangers as could possibly be spared.

Coordinating the Brightmoon and Plumerian ranger corps in this endeavor, has had Bow’s calender beyond swamped, and his one day off was spent dealing with Swift Wind arriving in Brightmoon. The speeder, fortunately, can ride across the tree-tops at speed, which helped greatly in coordinating things.

However, that has its upsides. Using the Swift Wind’s fabricators to equip basically everyone important with a handheld communicator has given them a very real edge in the war.

That is also why they aren’t bringing Mara back; building the necessary components would take more than a month.

Glimmer takes to her first month of ruling with grace and canniness. Adora’s pre-existing rank as General already gives her a foothold among her military chiefs, who might have been tempted to see her for a green commander — seeing as she’s only ever been Commandant — but she can just have Adora maker her suggestions for her, and give the words heft that way.

Her personal relationship with Spinnerella, Netossa and Castaspella, and Perfuma, makes diplomacy easier. Bow is too useful, unfortunately, to be given a high position in the court, but he knows who can be trusted in the Ranger Corps, and recommends Corps Captain Nightshade for promotion in his stead. Since Thaymor fell, she’s been in Brightmoon to raise the kits she’s had Bramblepelt. A cushy official position is just what she needs.

Using the new communicators she makes sure to have regular conversations with Frosta, to foster that mentorial connection her mother once recommended. A close diplomatic relationship with Snows will be desirable even after the war is over.

Mermista calls on occasion just to gossip.

The appearance of a new Runestone Wielder of course brings joy, and the question of where to best put Huntara to use is stifled when she openly asks for assistance from any existing Runestone wielders, in figuring out her powers. Adora takes her up on that offer, and after some arguing that no, she really is a Runestone wielder, convinces Huntara to agree.

Swift Wind gets parked in the Brightmoon harbor haven, just outside the harbor proper. Despite appearing to be floating, it is actually resting on the bottom on its legs, and the exterior hull takes on the color, and even the moving wave pattern, of the ocean, to disguise it from the air.

It’s a lot of work, suddenly, to be part of the government of a country, so it is almost a welcome reprieve, and horrifying that it _is_ a reprieve, when the first report comes in of a new kind of attack.

* * *

“So, what am I looking at?” Catra asks.

Hordak grins with barely-contained malice. “Pray tell, my commander-in-chief; what is the greatest hurdle in war?”

Catra has been ‘demoted’ to the comfortable position of the highest rank in the military. Officially she delegates almost all of the actual work to the sitting generals, who has the army, navy, and air force well in hand. The only direct responsibility she has is the Special Operations Forces, a position which she will let go of when she’s dead, and maybe not even then.

Hordak has resumed his role as Chancellor, still with unlimited power, but no longer ‘Supreme.’ The people never like that anyway. This way he seems much more responsible, and not having to manage the military, he has time for this.

“Easy: logistics. Food, ammo, transporting personnel and materiel.”

Hordak gestures to the open field before them. Gravel, with a distant chain link fence delineating the property. In the middle of the lot stands a portal engine, though smaller and sleeker and more advanced than the crude prototype that made contact with Horde Prime. It is powered by a dedicated First-Ones’ power generator.

Hordak raises a semaphore flag.

At one corner of the lot stands a platoon of soldiers.

The engine powers on, discharges some bursts of static electricity, and then… Space itself shimmers near the soldiers, resolving itself into a wormhole.

At the opposite corner, a matching hole in reality opens up.

The captain gives the order, and the platoon marches through the portal, emerging at quarter mile away, without traversing the intermediate distance.

“Holy shit. What’s the range?”

“That is not question you should be asking, Catra. It is powered by the same principles as the waygate system our enemy uses to great effect. The real question is _how precise_ is it; how effective is its target acquisition. The answer to that is: for all practical purposes, perfect.”

Catra begins clapping. Her mind is already racing with the possibilities.

“I mean, this even obsoletes all forms of artillery,” Catra says. “Just open one of those up high and toss some shells through _by hand._ ”

“Indeed, it seems my efforts are obsoleting every single weapons system I was once proud to have designed,” Hordak says. “Do you wish to see the rest?”

The rest is nowhere near as impressive: crates of the First-Ones’ gun that She-Ra was captured with, crates of the skin-tight First-Ones’ body-armor suits with additional hard armor panels containing ARP-PPE. Manuals, training programs, drills. A whole new soldier’s kit.

The prohibitively expensive hover systems used in the landskiffs and hover tanks are now suddenly cheap and easy, and so have been adapted for transporting everything frictionlessly over rough terrain. From man-pulled sleds, to light vehicles, to artillery carriages. All of them awaiting military trials and adoption.

“Now, I realize I opened strong in this demonstration, Hordak says. I’ve saved something equally impressive for last.”

He points to the sky, and Catra looks up. There is a plane circling above them. A flying boat by the looks of it.

“Yeah?” Catra says.

“That plane has been flying for the past seventy-two hours. It carries a six-man crew of pilots who sleep in shifts. At this point the limiting factor for air-time is drinkable water, and parts breakage.”

“How?” Catra asks. “In-air refueling?”

“Nothing so vulgar. Just a First-Ones’ generator. Its propeller engines are electrically driven. The whole set can be retro-fitted into our existing cargo planes with only a few days work by any team of maintenance technicians.”

Catra ponders this. “Those power generators can drive an entire ship. What are you using the rest for?”

Hordak gestures to a piece of equipment under a tent, beyond the fence. From this distance it is difficult to tell what weapon it is, until it fires. A white beam of destruction and fire strikes the concrete target a half mile down range.

“I recognize that. I used a handheld version to sink a Candilan ship.”

“Indeed. However, this is fitted with a set of lenses of my own design which increases its range dramatically. From the air, our flying boats will be able to shoot a ‘broadside’ so to speak with one of these, and take strafing hits on larger enemy targets with impunity from high altitude. The entire planes are fitted with ARW-projection systems to impede the known airborne Princesses who gave us such trouble at the Ash Corridor.”

The concrete block starts melting into a puddle of lava.

“Miraculous, Hordak. Miraculous.”

“Indeed, Catra. Indeed.”

* * *

Bow receives the call, while in a meeting in the Brightmoon Palace, which is fortunate. The Plumerian Ranger Corps and the Southern Brightmoon Ranger Corps need to coordinate patrols of the region; something so simple is bound to turn into a mess.

The call is from Killigan.

He accepts the connection, and Killigan’s face appears, eyes wild. “Bow. Elberon is under attack,” she says in a hushed voice.

Bow is out of his chair and walking briskly for the door before he’s even replying. He presses the record button. “Report, Ranger!”

“Horde soldiers. They are wearing a new kind of armor, and not using the rifles we know. No estimate on number of enemy combatants. No estimate on casualties. We’re defenceless.”

“Can you take refuge in the fort?” Bow asks, heading up the stairs two steps at a time.

“Not a chance; I’m in a teaching room full of cub scouts.”

“How did they get there? Naval landing?”

“I have no idea. The city bell didn’t even ring, they were just _there_.”

“Killigan, stay put. Is it a massacre?”

She shakes her head. “They’re driving everyone out into the streets, but there’s no killing. Not yet.”

There’s a yell from his communicator, and he sees the camera view tumble away. In the distance he hears Killigan yell: “ _I surrender! Don’t shoot, there’s children in here!_ ”

“Shit,” Bow says.

“ _On the ground, woman!_ ”

“ _Oh man, that’s a lot of kids. I think this is a school._ ”

“ _Round them up, anway._ ”

“ _Hey loo, she droppe this thing._ ”

The communicator is picked up, and turned over. Bow gets a view of a helmet of unfamiliar make, adorned with the Horde wings. The visor looks like glass, but probably isn’t. The man behind it is an ordinary soldier. Human, with a big bushy beard.

“Hey, there’s a little man on it.”

“Yeah,” Bow says. “I’m the Corps Captain of the Brightmoon Ranger.”

“Oh shit, he speaks.”

“ _What is he saying?_ ”

“That he’s the Captain of the Rangers over in Brightmoon or some shit.”

The other soldier comes over and takes the communicator from the first. A lizardfolk woman.

Bow has seen enough. He navigates away from the open communication channel and finds his administrator privileges. There he orders Killigan’s communicator to destroy itself.

Bow reaches the war room and bursts through the door. “Elberon is under attack!”

Adora, Glimmer, three generals of the Brightmoon army, an admiral of the Navy, and liaisons from Mystacor, Snows, and Salineas all look up at him.

“Well, spill the details son,” an older satyr man with a very impressive moustache says.

Bow replays the recording — audio only.

“We should get to Elberon right away,” Glimmer says. “Generals, I trust you can mobilize the dragoons without me.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

“Adora,” Glimmer continues, “Get Swift Wind, we’ll use her for deployment and evacuation. Bow, get Juliet and Huntara on the comms, tell them to suit up. I’ll alert Netossa and Spinnerella and get them here.”

* * *

Swift Wind comes to a steady rest, with a landing pylon extending down to the belfry of the Palace. However, despite its size, it is not immediately apparent that there is a two-hundred yard wide First-One’s spacecraft hovering over the castle.

The custodian calls it ‘active camouflage.’ Whatever that means.

Huntara is ready for action within only a few minutes, reporting in at the belfry severely out of breath in her new Brightmoon-style brigandine over a First-Ones’ second-skin suit.

Juliet is a close second, but noticeably less out of breath. She is much better on the many stairs of the castle.

Glimmer arrives shortly after in a flash of light with Netossa in tow. She is not wearing her battle gear; with her is a chest containing it. Then Glimmer blinks away again, and moments later returns with Spinnerella, who is just tying the last strap on her armor. Glimmer hands her the bundle of leather containing her rifle.

Adora, as She-Ra, directs them onto the ship. Bow is the last one in the elevator doors before her; he has spares of all his gear on board.

“Swift Wind, to Elberon. Fast.”

“`Affirmative.`”

The craft lunges under their feet.

In the control room, Spinnerella helps Netossa get dressed in the complex system of harnesses, both of them displaying the customary immodesty born of pure pragmatism.

Glimmer wears a prim battledress over her second skin suit, and so only needs to de-accessorize and arm herself with her staff — a gesture’s work; a pistol in her belt, and a helmet.

Bow unfolds and strings his new bow — a _folding_ bow, somehow made possible by First-Ones materials science. That is all the preparation he needs, because Rangers have no gala uniforms.

It is a tense twenty minutes, with little to no conversation. The view from the control center shifts to display a view of the land as it glides smoothly by far below.

“Swift Wind, land us a mile outside the city; we cannot afford detection,” Adora says.

And the ship brings them down.

* * *

They arrive in Elberon less than an hour after having received the notice from Killigan.

Elberon is not a large city, but it is too big to be called a town. It has a fortress and a harbor; a governor’s mansion, and a lively commerce district.

Or it would have, if it wasn’t entirely deserted.

A few dead soldiers of the garrison, dressed in Brightmoon colors and armor, litter the streets. One of the ships in the harbor is burning; as is one building near the edge of town. The sun beats down from above on a ghost town.

“What _happened_ here?” Glimmer asks, bewildered.


	8. Flutterina, Who?

“Comms on.”

They all dig through pockets for the little earbuds linked with their pocket communicators.

“Okay, plan of action,” Adora says. “Spinnerella, Glimmer, we are going to go airborne and scout. Netossa, take point and meet us at the fortress first. If the garrison is alive they might be able to tell us what happened, and if the Horde is holed up there, Huntara can collapse it.”

There’s a round of nods.

“Glimmer, you take the south and provide eye-in-the-sky for the ground team. Spinnerella, take northeast by the woodland; I’ll take northwest and the harbor.”

Adora opens her pouch and takes out the aegis, forming it into a flight-capable exoskeleton. Glimmer spreads her wings, and Spinnerella just levitates off the ground.

She guns her engines and the skirt of thrusters send her sailing skyward on a exhaust plumes of blue-white plasma. Glimmer casts a fire spell to avoid the hard work of climbing, and Spinnerella just shoots off like a bullet.

“ _Proceeding to the fortress,_ ” Netossa says. “ _No contacts._ ”

“ _No immediate signs of enemy activity,_ ” Glimmer notes. “ _Netossa, you’re in the clear; but stay sharp._ ”

“ _Will do, Queen._ ”

Adora reaches the northwestern part of town, and Elberon’s harbor. There’s no sign of anything or anyone in the streets. She does a fly-by of the burning ship, but sees no signs of battle damage.

Accelerating, she climbs higher and does a visual sweep of the coast and ocean. Nothing.

“ _Looks empty,_ ” Spinnerella says. “ _I’ve rustled the foilage; no trace of Horde. The fires don’t look like arson. I’m going to put them out so the whole city doesn’t burn down._ ”

“Do that. And same here as well,” Adora notes. “No signs of anyone.”

“ _Even the main roads out of town,_ ” Glimmer adds. “ _Where did everyone go?_ ”

“ _We’re seeing empty streets, empty houses,_ ” Netossa says.

Adora banks and heads back to the fortress. Coming in to land at the plaza before the main town-facing gate, Spinnerella joins her. Glimmer blinks in.

“I don’t like this,” Glimmer says. “There was over ten thousand souls in Elberon, a lot of them mothfolk. Now?”

“Even if they all walked, they wouldn’t have gotten far before we arrived,” Adora says.

Netossa, Huntara, Juliet, and Bow round a corner and join up. “All right,” Netossa says.

“Hey, Huntara,” Adora asks. “Any chance there’s something weird going on underground?”

Huntara shakes her head. “I’d feel it in my feet right away.”

Glimmer looks at Adora, puzzled.

Adora shrugs. “I mean, they _could_ theoretically have gone underground.”

* * *

The gates are all ajar, and the inside of the fortress is the scene of a battle. This is where, if there was a massacre, it happened. Soldiers in Brightmoon colors are strewn about; ground troops in armor, and flying scouts — mothfolk can fly — in light battledress. All of them dead.

“Juliet, what do you make of this?” Bow asks.

Juliet inspects the dead soldier Bow is standing by. “That looks like automatic fire from a Yala-Zev.”

“I concur,” Bow replies. “Adora?”

Adora is inspecting a different fallen soldier. “Yeah. Looks like it. They must have gotten their hands on our guns when we were captured in the desert, and then mass-produced them.”

“That’s just unfair,” Glimmer says, wryly.

The rest of the sweep of the interior of the fortress reveals more of the same: dead men and women, all of them fallen in battle. Carnage unimaginable.

“You know, I’m starting to get a little queasy,” Huntara says.

“Don’t worry,” Spinnerella replies, “unfortunately you get used to it.”

Unwisely, Huntara decides to check out a room Adora passed by. The door is ajar, blown off one hinge, and sports a few holes. She pushes it open, and recoils in horror, retching.

Adora looks back. “Yeah. Grenade room. Don’t bother checking those.”

The stone walls inside are slick with gore where its occupants met a mercifully swift end.

The sweep comes to an end. No survivors. Not even a single fallen Horde soldier. They reconvene in the yard.

“We must assume all of this was done on purpose,” Glimmer says, “To send a message. They could have destroyed the town, massacred the inhabitants…”

“But they want us to know they can make an entire town disappear,” Bow says.

“I I know Catra right,” Adora says, “she has a hand in this somehow. This is done as nicely as possible — have we even seen a single dead civilian?”

“I did,” Spinnerella says. “A dead man holding a musket.”

“So, a combatant,” Adora says. “Look, the rules of engagement I see in this operation were almost specifically written to not piss me off. And by extension, probably other soldiers. I think she’s trying to be careful. Not have any more soldiers leave like I did.”

“Adora,” Netossa says, “we don’t have any concrete intel, so let’s lay off the theories and just try to figure out the _how,_ yeah?”

“The dragoon companies from Erelandia should arrive within one or two hours,” "Glimmer notes. Then we’ll do a sweep of the whole city, looking for

“So we’re declaring the city safe?” Netossa says.

“I’m prepared to say it’s unlikely that any enemy combatants are left here,” Adora says, “but let’s order the search to proceed slowly in case of booby traps.”

* * *

The dragoons arrive, a little over a thousand strong, mounted and armed. Glimmer discusses the operation with the Captain of the company, and a grid search of the city is undertaken.

Adora calls the Swift Wind in to land closer to the city, and they take dinner from its on-board kitchen — which when operated by the household drones really just serves to heat fabricated meals.

There isn’t much anybody wants to talk about. An entire town’s people disappearing in an eyeblink is a bit too horrifying and the horror a bit too fresh.

They eat outside, so as to be available to any messengers that might come running, who might be intimidated by walking up to the faint but enormous silhouette of Swift Wind.

One comes running: a young, fresh-faced mothfolk man in cavalrist’s uniform.

“Your Majesty, a survivor has been found.”

They all leave their meals behind.

* * *

The survivor is up on main street, near the governor’s mansion.

They spot her, lying on a gurney propped up as a makeshift bed. A small, frail-looking mothfolk girl, pink of skin and hair. Despite lying on a gurney, she is awake and aware. A medic is sitting by her, with a plate of hot food, and a canteen of water.

Adora, as She-Ra heads forward, gesturing for the others to stay put.

She comes over to the gurney and kneels down. “Hello,” she says.

The girl’s eyes go wide. “Are you ‘She-Ra’?” she asks.

Adora nods. “Yes, but my name is Adora. What is your name, and who are you?”

“My name is Flutterina. I… I’m nobody.” She looks away.

Adora looks to the medic — a mothfolk woman. “Where did you find her?”

“In the mansion, ma’am. She’s a cripple; legs are misshapen and her wings are furled. She had crawled up the stairs from the basement, and was knocking on the door. A locked door. We had to break it down to get to her.”

Adora looks down. “Why were you locked in the basement?”

“I’m the governor’s daughter. But my parents never wanted to loose face by having a crippled daughter. So they kept me hidden. When — when my maids didn’t come in the afternoon, I thought they had just forgotten. They do that sometimes. But then evening came. I was listening to the house, and nobody was in it all day, and then there was a lot of people.”

There’s tears in her eyes.

“And I cried for help, but nobody could hear me, so I crawled out of bed and up the stairs.”

She pulls her arms from under the blanket and show her bruises.

Adora frowns.

“Are— are you angry with me?”

Her expression softens. “Oh no, sweetness, not at all. I’m angry with your parents. May I?”

Adora holds out a hand.

Flutterina looks at it. “What are you doing?”

“Healing. It will make you feel better.”

Adora puts her hand on Flutterina, and channels starlight. The injustice this girl has suffered serves well to help bring it out. It builds to blinding intensity without ever being painful to look at.

Then Adora removes her hand, and Flutterina looks bewildered about, first at the bruises on her arms being gone, and then throwing off the blanket, at her legs — hale and strong, with white stretch marks from the sudden growth.

She sits, and her wings flare out on their own.

Flutterina looks up at Adora, eyes wet. “Are… Are you a goddess?”

“No,” Adora says. “I’m She-Ra.”

* * *

Catra taps her foot. “We’re on a sharp deadline. You said you found the ‘perfect candidate,’ but you’ve been canny about it. I’m trusting you.”

“Allow me,” Double Trouble says, and unlocks the door. The shapeshifter has adopted their ‘customary’ form, of a green-skinned, tailed being that resembles no race of people on Etheria. “See, the Governor has a daughter. I’m telling you this is the most interesting part of this dead-beat city. Everyone here is so _boring._ ”

“A daughter in a locked basement?”

They head down the stairs, to find a living space. “Yes. She’s simple, and deformed, I’m afraid.”

They enter the main room, and find a mothfolk girl sitting on the carpet, legs crooked and underdeveloped, wings furled and useless. She is sitting with a doll clutched in her arms, rocking from side to side and making a repetitive humming noise.

“Anyway, I managed to land a job as custodian for her, so I’ve slowly been manufacturing evidence that she isn’t in fact an idiot.” Double Trouble points at the bookshelves, which stock tomes about philosophy, economics, military history, poetry, and so on.

Catra gestures to the two soldiers following her. “Take this drooling idiot away,” she says. “Gently!”

Double Trouble smiles a fox-like grin. “So, I assume the identity of the governor’s crippled secret daughter, and play on their heartstrings. It will be the easiest thing in the world.”

Catra nods. “I’m trusting you. Don’t fuck this up. We can always extract you, but you need to get word to us.”

“Yes, yes. I know how to slip away in the night and hit up a safe-house.”

Setting up said safe houses has been pretty easy. Just send ‘refugees’ to Brightmoon, and let the idiots welcome them with open arms. Said refugees of course carrying all the components to construct radios.

“Good. We’ll be counting on you.”

“I will not disappoint, kitten.”

“Don’t call me that.”

* * *

Flutterina is understandably ecstatic to be able to walk; and even tries flying, only to swiftly find it is much harder than it seems.

Getting her to actually sit and eat dinner turns out to be a difficult matter, until she exhausts herself by running about and looking at things. Despite She-Ra’s healing, she is a thirteen-year-old girl who has never had a day of playing outside.

“So, what do we do with her?” Bow asks.

They’ve convened a little council: Glimmer, Bow, Adora, Netossa, Spinnerella.

Huntara has volunteered to to chaperone. Juliet has been ordered to.

“We could ask her?” Adora suggests.

“Technically, with the capture of her parents, by heredity she is acting governess,” Glimmer says. “We at least owe her the respect of letting her take up residence in comfort somewhere.”

“We could take her,” Spinnerella says. Netossa elbows her.

“What’s going on with you two?” Adora asks.

Netossa groans. “Spinny has a case of baby fever.”

“Have not. This is a teenager. I’m just in touch with my maternal instincts!”

“So, let’s ask her. Brightmoon, or Alwyn,” Adora says. She looks over at Huntara, who is getting a hug; Flutterina embracing the large orc woman around the waist. “And if she wants foster parents or not.”

“What about you?” Bow asks. “You don’t want to offer her a room on the Swift Wind?”

Adora shakes her head. “She deserves better than what I can give her. Much better. I’m far too busy with everything.”

Glimmer reaches out and takes Adora’s hand. “Hey. You’re not Shadow Weaver.”

In the end Huntara carries the sleepy girl on board the Swift Wind, and Adora sets her up in a guest room — temporarily.

The dragoon company stays in Elberon until a more permanent garrison can arrive. While it seems strange to garrison a ghost town, if they are ever to save the people, it would be unfortunate if the city was in ruins.

They fly back to Brightmoon.

Glimmer calls an immediate meeting of the full board of generals, and doesn’t see a bed before well after midnight.

* * *

The following morning, Flutterina — which is to say, Double Trouble — wakes early, to unfamiliar surroundings aboard the Swift Wind.

“`Guest Flutterina,`” the custodian says, “`Administrator Adora has requested that you report to the mess hall at earliest convenience.`”

The room has a bed, a desk, a chair without legs, and light streams gently down from the entire ceiling, as if it was one large skylight.

“Uh?” she says, then gets out of bed — a luxuriously soft mattress that seems to take shape after the body — and finds a set of clothes, neatly folded, which seems to fit her waifish stature. Pink blouse with a flower motif on it, and purple skirt adorned with a graphic of the lunar-phase precession around the hem. White and luxuriously soft undergarments and stockings, and a pair of red shoes. All of it of a quality that costs _real_ money in Capital.

“Such luxury,” she mutters to herself. Looking about reveals that the guest room has two adjoining chambers: one is evidently for storage, with shelves; the other is a chamber of ablutions.

Playing to the role, Double Troubles pretends to not entirely understand the purpose of what is clearly a shower cabin, a sink, and a toilet — albeit designed for squatting, rather than sitting — and a bidet.

After ‘exploring’ for a few minutes, she uses the facilities and washes up — primarily her dirty feet — and gets dressed. It is a relief to change out of the frankly embarrassing outfit taken from the wardrobe of the real Flutterina. There’s room for a diaper in the pants, for goodness sake!

“Now how do I get to the mess?” she wonders aloud.

A glowing line in the floor appears, leading to the main door of the room. A door which opens by sliding sideways. Strange.

The way to the mess hall is not that far, but still plenty. “What _is_ this place,” Flutterina mumbles to herself, before finally emerging into a larger circular space, which appears at first glance to be open to the outside; but upon closer inspection is revealed to be just a clever illusion of sorts. The walls and ceiling look like the sky. There’s even a sun, and its light is _warm._

There’s rows of tables and benches, and an adjoining kitchen. The space could seat around fifty. Currently it seats just one: Adora. She’s enjoying a hot breakfast from a tray, with a mug of something steaming, and staring into her communicator.

She looks up. “Oh, hey!” And gestures for Flutterina to join her.

Flutterina nervously does, taking a seat opposite of Adora. “What is this place?”

“The Swift Wind. It’s a spacecraft. Think of it as a ship that can fly. It’s mine.”

“Oh.”

“Did you sleep well? Hungry?”

“Yes and yes.”

“Custodian, please serve one of what I’m having for Flutterina. Coffee also.”

“`Will do.`”

Adora puts her communicator on the table, screen-down. “How do you feel?”

Flutterina looks at her. “You’re She-Ra, right?”

Adora nods.

“But you’re smaller now.”

“I’m not She-Ra all the time,” Adora says and smiles. “Sometimes I’m just Adora.”

Flutterina looks down into the table. “I know I’m supposed to feel bad for everyone, but I… I’m happy I got to get out. It’s… Weird.”

“I know how you feel,” Adora says.

A spherical three-legged drone serves a mug of dark liquid, and a tray of three kinds of porridge for Flutterina. She picks up the spoon-fork(?) and takes an experimental nibble. It is warm, but very hearty. If this is the kind of treatment she is in for, Flutterina is in every way okay with this assignment. She digs in.

“So, we have a question for you,” Adora says. “As the daughter of the governor, that makes you the governess in exile. By Brightmoon law you are entitled to certain privileges, and have certain duties. If you don’t feel fit to undertake these, the Queen will elect a proxy for your station until you come of age.”

“I— I can take care of it, I think.”

“Good,” Adora says. “Now since you have not come of age, you should also not live alone. We discussed it among ourselves after you fell asleep but it boils down to this: do you want to live in a suite at the Brightmoon palace, or would you like us to find you some foster parents?”

Flutterina looks down into her breakfast. “Wh— who would want someone like me?”

Adora’s face contorts in pity. “Oh, don’t say it like that. Lots of people! Netossa and Spinnerella would like to have you, and you could move to Alwyn with them.”

Flutterina nods tentatively. “Netossa, that’s the dark-skinned one with the blue hair?”

Adora grabs her communicator and navigates to her contacts list, showing the portraits off, one after the other.

“Who else?”

“I’m sure Melissa and Huntara wouldn’t mind —” another two portraits “— though they might not stay in Brightmoon for much longer. And if not them, then I’m sure there’s a petty-noble family who wouldn’t mind taking you in; you are a Baroness, after all.”

Flutterina tries a sip of coffee and pretends to find the taste objectionable. “I don’t think I want to stay outside of Brightmoon.”

Adora reaches over and pats Flutterina on the hand. “Listen: you don’t have to decide now. After breakfast, I’m going to the castle, and you can come along, or you can stay here as a guest.”

Adora reaches into the pocket of her trousers and pulls out another communicator. “Here. This one is yours.”

“What is it?”

“A communicator. Using it, you can talk to anyone on Etheria who has one; plus it can do a whole lot of other things. If you need to talk to me or anyone else, just ask it to call me or them.”

* * *

The following few days sees a flurry of diplomatic activity, as everyone who might want to know is informed of the incident at Elberon. Mostly Glimmer and Adora uses the established call chain and their personal communicators.

It is generally agreed upon that the full incident report is in no way good news.

“Your Majesty. The Baroness Flutterina, Governess-in-exile of Elberon requests an audience.”

Glimmer is in the study, off the side of the throne room; which is more like a small library than a study, really, and is probably ill served as merely ‘the room where the Queen does paperwork.’

She looks up at the butler at the door. “Bring her in.”

Flutterina comes in; still dressed in clothes from the Swift Winds’ fabricator.

“What can I do for you, Baroness?” Glimmer asks.

Flutterina curtsies. “Your Majesty, I have spent the last few days in contemplation.”

Glimmer raises an eyebrow.

“I find that in order for me to do my duty as Governess-in-exile, my duty to the people of Elberon, I must involve myself in the war effort. What I am saying is: if you will have me, I will gladly help in any capacity I am capable of.”

Glimmer stands and walks around the desk. “Baroness, I am very honored that you would make such an offer, but you are in my estimation, much too young and inexperienced.”

Flutterina deflates.

Glimmer continues: "However; I admire your resolve. I shall see to it that you are allowed to participate in the war effort and learn about the arts of war, so that one day you may live up to your resolution. Feel free to approach the military academy down in Brightmoon to receive formal instruction; and I shall write you a letter of recommendation so that you may gain credit for any participation you take in the matter of resolving the Elberon incident.

“Acceptable?”

Flutterina curtsies. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Good. And wow am I beginning to sound like my mother.”

There’s another knock on the door.

“Enter?” Glimmer says.

A military messenger girl comes in. “Your Majesty. Message from Salineas: they have suffered a devastating naval loss two days ago. In early estimations, roughly half of their fleet’s number.”

“Well, Flutterina,” Glimmer says. “Want to see what a military briefing looks like?”

Flutterina beams.


	9. Reversal, Turnabout

The loss is devastating. The Salinean fleet which has now for six months kept the Horde navies basically confined to coastal waters under the protection of shore batteries, is now limping back to the middle seas.

Not only have they lost one quarter — _one quarter_ — of their ships by number, but in total they are reduced to half strength overall, when one counts the damage to the surviving vessels.

Where they prevailed on numeric superiority before, given the massive losses that the Empress inflicted on the Horde navy, now the numbers have been evened out; and the Horde ships are fresh from dock, while the Salinean crews have been to sea for six months.

What’s worse is that they are even faster now than before, and preliminary reports say no Horde ship has been seen returning to harbor to refuel yet.

The actual weapon that inflicted the casualties have not been observed directly, but it seems a safe bet it is mounted on an aircraft. A ray of destruction striking without warning from clear skies. Burning wood and melting steel, slaying men and blowing up magazines.

Now defence of Brightmoon’s coasts falls on the Brightmoon navy, not half the strength of Salineas, and just as vulnerable to this new weapon if accounts are to be believed.

Candila as well.

“What do you suggest?” Glimmer asks her senior staff. The war room’s massive enchanted roundtable shows a hologram of the Brightmoon side of Etheria, its depth lying deeper than the table’s surface.

“That we call the navies back into harbor,” the most senior admiral says. A satyr man with a grey beard that hangs to his chest. “Apart from the Princesses and Mystacor, we have no weapon to deal with this threat. If we do not act to preserve strength, we will have no navy left.”

Glimmer looks around the room, at her generals and admirals, at Adora and Spinnerella.

“Give the order,” she says. “Full withdrawal. Inform the merchant fleet that they no longer have protection. I will go speak to the mercantile guilds, and the ministry of agriculture. We may need to impose rationing on the subjects.”

* * *

Glimmers job as Queen is not to make decisions. It is to authenticate decisions other people have made. It has been now, for over a month. All the matters for which no guideline is laid ahead of time end up on her desk.

The ones that ask her for what to do don’t even reach her desk.

She skips her lunch break; or rather, she grabs a sandwich from the food trolley, and blinks away.

Into the dungeon.

The guards jerk to rapt attention. “At ease. I’m not here,” she says to them, and then proceeds beyond the door.

“Your Majesty, to what do I owe this unexpected visit?” Shadow Weaver says and rises from her desk, quickly wiping her lips with a handkerchief and hanging her veil back over her mouth. A bowl of stew on a serving tray sits on it.

“I was hoping we could talk over lunch,” Glimmer says. “Why the veil?”

“To conceal the fact that I have fangs; a rare birth defect among elves. It tends to unnerve people. By the religious doctrines I was raised in, it was also considered a sin to show them.”

She unhooks her veil and smiles. It is unnerving. She leaves it hanging from one ear.

“I sense the subject matter is a grave one,” Shadow Weaver says, and sits down to resume eating. “Please, sit.”

Glimmer pulls the other chair out and sits, taking a bite of her sandwich. “We’re losing the war.”

“Last I heard you were winning. What changed?”

“I don’t know, but the Alliance has suffered two decisive defeats in a very short time frame, and I am dreading news of the next one.”

“I do not get much news down here. What has Hordak wrought this time?” Shadow Weaver says.

“Elberon has been completely depopulated and we have no idea how. I’m here asking you, because you’re the one person with the most outside perspective I have on hand to ask.”

Shadow Weaver points at Glimmer with her spoon. “Adora is from the Horde too.”

“And she is as clueless as the rest of us.”

Shadow Weaver picks up the side of bread, and breaks it, smelling the hearty crumb. “Depopulated you say. Not a massacre?”

“The city still stands. The only dead are Brightmoon soldiers. It is a ghost town.”

Shadow Weaver taps her clawed fingers on the table. “Ah; What technology has Hordak just recently pioneered and successfully deployed?”

Glimmer tilts her head. “Why do you ask me that like Castaspella does when she lectures me in sorcery?”

“Because I lectured Castaspella in sorcery. Answer the question; it is easy.”

“Well, there was the portal machine…”

Glimmer’s eyes go wide.

“Now it is just speculation, but it seems straightforward. Hordak successfully creates a portal machine, and next we know it, attacks are happening out of the blue. The Waygate network comes to mind as a historical example of same.”

“I— I didn’t even consider; the portal he built, it was meant to signal the rest of the Horde, not… Not transport troops.”

“One reasons he must have re-designed it. And then likely mass-produced them. He is fond of developing new machines and then having his industrial allies manufacture them by the thousands.”

Glimmer looks down at her sandwich. She doesn’t feel like eating anymore. “So the next attack could happen anywhere at any time,” she mutters.

“There are wards which can impede the opening of portals, but they are complicated and expensive to maintain. I have passing familiarity with portal sorcery myself, but I am sure Mystacor has more capable experts on hand. Pray tell, what is the _other_ horrible thing?”

Glimmer looks up. “Salineas has lost a large portion of their fleet within days; the Horde has naval supremacy once more. We’re fairly sure they have mounted some new kind of highly destructive weapon to aircraft.”

“I was going to suggest they might be shooting through portals too, but Hordak was already working on creating an air force department of the military, one with as much responsibility and weight as the army or navy.”

Glimmer finishes her sandwich, and stands. “I’m shirking my responsibilities. Thank you for your… Counsel.”

“At your service, Your Majesty.”

* * *

Sure enough the news come in from half-way around the world.

Queen Peftasteri of Candila has been leading a massive advance, crushing the resistance at the borders of Drylian Hordelands, and marching steadily closer to the capital of the Fright Zone’s sister country, across the Continental Canal which separates Erulia in the west from Crenea in the east.

Her epithet ‘Iron Rain’ is well deserved, and the reason why she is in the field instead of Princess Meteora, who goes by ‘Iron Curtain’. The Candilan army is by a fair margin the most technologically advanced land fighting force in the Alliance, next after Snows.

They have fitted their entire army with breech-loading rifles that shoot from paper cartridges. They have breech-loading howitzers and cannons just rolling out from their foundries. Every mile they have traversed towards the Fright Zone, they’ve laid railway behind them, and now transport troops and supplies from the Candilan heartlands to the front in less than a day.

When the first bomb lands, it is surprising. When the second one does, panic begins.

Peftasteri is called upon to unmake the weapons as they fall from the sky; but finds that her powers of metal manipulation find no purchase in the weapons.

Heavy ceramic pots with fins on the side, loaded with explosives; a wooden rod serving as the firing pin.

Thousands of them, and no sign of whatever aircraft is dropping them.

Glimmer gets the report in full from a concerned Meteora, informing her that Peftasteri has called a full retreat; on foot, as the rails and rail bridges have been blown.

She puts the communicator down, and there is a moment’s silence in the war room.

“For the time being, ladies and gentlemen,” Glimmer says, “we’re losing this war. There are no forces left to put pressure on the Horde.”

She gets up, and heads out. Out of the war room and its twenty-odd top military advisors, out on one of the big balconies.

Standing there, she rests her face in both hands.

“Hey.”

It’s Adora. And Flutterina.

“It feels like it’s my fault,” Glimmer says. “If my mom was still the queen, this wouldn’t be happening.”

Adora has nothing to say to that, but offers a hand on Glimmer’s back.

* * *

That evening, Glimmer blinks into the Whispering Woods, to the Hidden Library.

“Your Majesty,” Lance says, as he opens the door.

“Lance, I apologize for the late hour— I mean I’m sorry for coming by so late.”

“No trouble; what can I do for you?”

“Can you fire up the tracker? And… A drink, if you have it.”

Lance frowns. “Your Majesty, with all due respect, I don’t think you should be drinking to relieve stress. As for the tracker, we never turn it off; we have it manned around-the-clock now.”

Lance exits the domicile, and leads Glimmer around to the front entrance. A temporary barracks building has been constructed in the clearing, and the path towards Brightmoon has been widened significantly, and paved with gravel.

Inside, by mage-light, the tracking spell’s globe still occupies the center of the room, but the magical machinery around it has grown several additional tumors; most notably the addition of several obsidian and basalt standing stones.

“The Queen is here, everyone be presentable!” someone shouts.

There’s a bit of a bustle as some of the technicians hurry to put on shirts and button jackets. The sorcerous devices are outputting quite a bit of heat, not to mention the twenty people in the room. In winter it was welcome, now, not so much. It smells like sweat, paper, and dust.

“I’d like to view the area around Capital. There’s a large collection of First Ones’ tech there.”

“We’ve been tracking that ma’am— Your Majesty,” one of the technicians say, a young human woman, younger than Glimmer. She looks and dresses like someone who has spent too long without sleep or sunlight.

She hands Glimmer a stack of reports, containing carefully penned maps of activity, indexed by date. The young technician quickly operates the control panel’s crystal arrangements, dials, and levers, then rotates the globe by hand to the Fright Zone.

Glimmer pages back in her reports, comparing. “They’ve diversified,” she says.

“What?”

“According to my intel, that is a factory,” Glimmer says. “Which produces First-Ones’ tech.”

“Oh that explains it,” the technician says. “Whatever they’re building, that there is the locus —” she points “— and from there they— then they are shipping parts out everywhere! From the looks of it they are starting other similar factories; we haven’t been able to explain that pattern until… Where did you learn this Your Majesty?”

“Irrelevant,” Glimmer says. “And thank you, miss…”

“My name hardly matters, Your Majesty,” says the technician, blushing.

Glimmer nods. “Then I wish you a good evening.” She turns to Lance. “See you soon, Lance. Once again, thank you.”

“And to you, Queen.”

Then Glimmer blinks herself miles away.

* * *

Adora is in the gym — or really it is the multipurpose simulation space, but for now it is a gym. The weights are fake, but the simulated force of gravity is just as good as the real thing.

She lays into the punching bag with another repetition of the combo. High kick, low kick, jab, jab, hook, haymaker, back kick. She dances back. At least exercise is a thing. Exhaustion tends to overshadow anxiety.

It’s hard to sleep, all alone on a big spacecraft, sometimes. Officer life might have spoiled her, but even in the small apartment in the city, there was the noises of the city itself. The occasional cart in the night, a yowling animal, drunkards going home late.

Here, it is silent. Not even a hum of machinery.

And lonely.

“Hey.”

Adora spins, to see Glimmer. She looks frazzled, stressed, overworked. “Hey.”

Glimmer takes a moment to realize what she just walked in on. Adora in gym shorts and a breastband, glistening with sweat. She blushes.

“Glimmer?” Adora says.

“Sorry. I’m a bit tired; I’ve had a bad week.”

Adora blushes. “Are you— I mean, I can take a shower if you’d—”

“I need to talk to you; I have half a plan for some fieldwork. A counter attack.”

“Oh,” Adora says, ever so slightly disappointed.

“But afterwards, sure. I’m overdue for some sleep anyway, and Juliet knows where to reach me.”

It doesn’t go over well with one’s General Captain of the Guard to leave without telling. Glimmer has made that mistake once already.

Adora grabs a towel to take the worst. “Let’s go somewhere with tables.”

Glimmer holds out a hand and Adora takes it. Then she blinks them to the mess hall.

Adora takes a seat, and Glimmer opposite her. Emily, the household drone comes over to them — Adora has requested such, as she feels weird ordering from the custodian directly.

“Hot water and filter pouches, please,” Adora says, “and the tin of good tea I bought the other day.”

Emily scurries off to fetch it, and is back quickly: the thermos began filling already when Adora said it. Emily gingerly sets them both an enameled metal cup with wooden handle, and hands Adora a teaspoon.

Skilfully, she measures out the expensive tea — now bound to increase in price tenfold due to the merchant fleet being forced into harbor — and brews them both cups of crisp golden goodness.

Adora hands Glimmer the second spoon, and they both stir their respective brews until they are cool enough to drink.

“So, what is your plan?”

“You’ve seen the target,” Glimmer says. “The factory with all the fabricators.”

“Oh.”

Glimmer nods. “I consulted with Shadow Weaver about the Elberon incident and—”

“Wait, you’re talking to Shadow Weaver?”

“As much as I dislike it, she is both clever and intimately knowledgable about out enemy. She’s an asset, not an ally. When her usefulness has run its course, I’ll dispose of her, rest assured.”

“You’re using your Queen voice.”

Glimmer sighs. “Sorry.”

“Okay, what did the wicked witch say?”

“It’s portals. Like waygates. And I think — remember his portal machine? There was First-Ones’ tech in it. Tech that came from this very same factory.”

Adora’s eyes go wide. “Shit.”

“It was pretty much confirmed when I got the report from Candila. I think the use of aircraft to destroy Salineas’ navy was a ruse to make us question it. There were no aircraft to drop those bombs, and Peftasteri is too capable an anti-air asset to risk it.”

“Yeah, maybe. I mean, it fits.”

“I’ve been thinking of how best to attack such a target, and I’m thinking Swift Wind could be useful.”

Adora frowns. “No. I’m not risking her.”

“Her?”

“Ships are female. Why not spacecraft?”

Glimmer shrugs.

“Swift Wind is not a combat craft. The weapons it does have are for self-defense; light anti-armor at best, and very limited range. There’s no ‘main gun’ we could use to blow up a factory.”

Glimmer nods. “I know. I was thinking something more medieval.”

Adora tilts her head. “I don’t understand.”

“Custodian, what’s Swift Wind’s carrying capacity?”

“`The cargo hold superstucture is rated for 1800 tons of bulk.`”

“What are you—” Adora says.

“Rocks. Fill Swift Wind’s cargo bay with boulders, fly her to right above the factory in the Fright Zone, and open the drop-doors. Ideally from _very_ high up. Much higher than aircraft can fly, or cannons can shoot.”

“Custodian is this feasible?” Adora asks.

“`Improvised gravity-dorp weaponry has been utilized before by Mara.`”

“See?” Glimmer says.

“I don’t know, Glimmer. What about collateral damage?”

“There will be less than if it was explosives.”

“And the people working in that factory? They aren’t soldiers.”

“No, but they knowingly work _for the_ military, at a strategically significant location. They let themselves hire knowing that risk.”

Adora squints. “That’s from the _Manual of Ethical Conduct in Military Matters._ ”

“Yeah.”

“You read _Hordak’s_ books?”

“Of course. He’s my enemy. Anything that’ll let me get inside his head is valuable. I’ve read everything of his I could get my hands on. I borrowed some of them from your personal ‘library,’ not that you really own enough books for it to qualify as such.”

“Yeah. Reading is not my strong suit. Do… Do you agree with any of it?”

Glimmer shrugs. “Yeah, I mean, I guess when on the topic of war ethics, I can get behind some of his things, but it still irks and behoves me that he’d let his own armies break the very rules he stated.”

“Actually, I don’t think he did. Chancellor Hordak was never a military commander. He did diplomacy and civic development, but let the military conduct their matters as they wished, with only gentle pressure to… You know, conquer the world.”

Glimmer crosses her arms. “Anyway, obviously I don’t agree with some of his thoughts on the organization of society, such as the abolition of royalty. And even if I did, now more than ever, political stability is paramount. Reforms are for peacetime.”

“Fair enough, I suppose,” Adora says.

“So are you in?”

“I… Guess? Let’s rope the others into this conversation. I imagine Huntara would be supplying the ‘munitions,’ so to speak?”

“I was thinking it.”

* * *

“Oh you should _see_ these fools,” Flutterina says, kicking her legs off Catra’s desk, while doodling on a notepad.

“You know it’s really unnerving for you to wear the form and voice of an underage girl, right?” Catra replies.

“Sorry, kitten, but I’m not changing back, I’m just taking a break.”

“Don’t call me that. Also, you’re risking the mission by coming here; you are aware, right?”

“It’s not like they keep me under constant surveillance, and besides, I _am_ a trained covert operator. I know how to sneak around undetected. Now can I spill the tea on these fools?”

Catra gestures, and resumes reading the reports from the bombardment of Candila’s forces.

“I don’t understand why we’ve been losing to them, they are so _easy_ to play off of. That Adora girl, especially. The one you’re so interested in.”

“She’s my nemesis. So what.”

“Anyway, as you can see, she healed my legs and wings, which is really quite remarkable. It is _very_ fortunate that her healing spell and my shapeshifting somehow didn’t interact, because that would have outed me in one hot second.”

“She’s soft like that, weak.”

“And anyway, then I pretended to be all giggly and happy — you know, children have it easy, and everybody loves them. It’s great. Especially the sweets.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So anyway, Adora has this giant flight-capable craft. We’re talking two or three hundred yards _wide_ maybe five hundred long. Maybe more. It is absolutely enormous, and could easily fit about an entire platoon. It’s also got a fabricator, but they haven’t figured out Hordak’s little ‘RepFab’ trick.”

Catra, having though herself well-earned a sip of coffee, spits the mouthful of highly staining liquid all over her report. “She has a _what?_ ”

“I’m not going to read back my minutes, kitten. You heard what I said.”

“That— that’s the ship from the desert. It has to be.”

“Yeah, and there’s a new Runestone user too: big burly orc woman from the desert.”

Catra looks at Flutterina with surprise and concern. “That has to be Huntara. Shit. Anyway, this is really good intel. Would you care to write it down?”

“Oh, I don’t _do_ paperwork, kitten. But since I knew you’d ask…” They hold out the note-pad they’ve been scribbling on. “I took my own minutes. Shorthand. Next time, get a stenographer.”

Catra accepts the notepad, which is full of strange little scribbly squiggles and dots.

“Also,” Flutterina continues. “Get someone to run down to the fabricators and take an imprint of this —” she hands Catra the communicator “— the rebels are using these things all the time. The ship’s fabricator makes them. I need it back.”

Catra’s eyes go wide. She takes the communicator, and vaults the table, running out the door.

“Not so much as a thank you… Hm, I wonder if this kitten has a liquor cabinet.”

* * *

Glimmer wakes up when her communicator beeps, gently informing her that she’s got duties to attend to. She rolls over in bed and finds Adora gone. She sits, sleep hanging over her like a haze, and swings her legs out of bed. The door to the room is open, and there’s a shower going — probably in the room next door. Adora’s thoughtful like that.

Her dress uniform and underwear is lying on the desk, neatly folded and spotless, and there’s a mug of hot tea standing ready.

“How the—” she mutters, and gets properly out of bed, lumbering into the bathroom.

Glimmer no longer likes mirrors. They remind her of how much weight she’s losing, to the stress of being queen. She quite liked her plump figure, and the raw physical strength her curves hid. Now she’s starting to look… Manly.

She attends nature’s call, and gets in the shower for a quick rinse, and then tries desperately to manage her unruly hair, before giving up. Water and comb cannot tame what will not be tamed.

“Sleep well?”

Adora’s standing by the door.

“Yeah.”

“Breakfast?”

Glimmer is about to say she has no time — and she doesn’t, she’d be running late if not for her ability to blink directly from here to the palace — but Adora is offering her what is quickly becoming her favorite food: the portable kind. A bowl of paperboard, full of porridge.

Glimmer dresses in a hurry, gulps down her tea, and takes the bowl from Adora with a kiss on the cheek. “You’d make a great wife one day,” she says.

“For now, I’m content to be a General and occasional bedfellow,” Adora says. “Call about the secret mission thing?”

“Secret schmecret. But yeah.”

Then Glimmer vanishes in a puff of light.


	10. Phones Call, Empires Fall

Holding court is by far the least engaging part of Glimmer’s day, but her rule is reliant on the consent — at least on paper — of the nobility. She finds her mind drifting to idle plans of usurping the power of all of these stuck-up self-important buffoons who insist that Brightmoon needs to garrison half its armies in their backyards to defend against what happened in Elberon.

_Come to think of it, Chancellor Hodak wrote some pointed things about undermining the power of the noble class…_

Most of them is in a tissy about Baroness-in-exile Flutterina, and also want their prodigal offspring to get court mentorship as well.

Fortunately, there’s a new delegation, led by a young Scorpioni man. Much slighter of build than the Princess — the only other Scorpion Glimmer has ever seen in person.

They arrived in a _very_ fast ship with an unusually narrow hull, just this morning, under flag of truce.

Glimmer recognizes a couple of his attendants, from when she visited the now-dissolved Horde embassy.

“Your Majesty, allow me to present myself; my name is Marmoo, of the ancient and most noble house of Dread. I come sent by Chancellor Hordak, to ask recognition as official diplomatic representative.”

Glimmer adjusts her posture from ‘disinterested slump’ to ‘interested slump.’

“Any relation Princess Scorpia?”

“No, Your Majesty.”

“And here I thought all nobility was distantly related. Very well, I shall accept your application and recognize you. We are at war. Unless you are about to sue for peace, I have national matters to attend to.”

“As a matter of fact, I have come to sue for peace. The Chancellor is prepared to recognize the sovereignty of Brightmoon as a satellite state of the Hordelands, any time you are ready to accept the terms offered — he personally guarantees there will be no bad blood…”

Glimmer leans forward, her wings flaring out in anger. “You are very brave, Marmoo.”

“Pardon?”

“It sounds like you are asking for Brightmoon’s unconditional surrender.”

“I… Suppose I it might sound that way; but I assure you there are quite many conditions in your favor, you are welcome to review the terms of the proposed peace treaty, but I can assure you they are quite lenient.”

“Ambassador, kindly shove that document where the sun doesn’t shine. Hordak can have Brightmoon if he can take it by force. Send him this message: I consider the Chancellor himself an active combatant. Should we meet, I will kill him.”

Marmoo nods, uneasy. “Understood, Your Majesty.”

“Remind him also that my mother is dead because of him, and I therefore hold the full power of my Runestone. He can hide, but he cannot run. If he gives himself over willingly, I’ll consider merely prosecuting him for regicide—”

Glimmer’s communicator pings. She digs it out of her pocket. _Mermista._

“Pardon me,” she says, and blinks to the study, accepting the call.

Mermista’s face appears, contorted in worry. “Glimmer, I need you to open the waygate _right now._ ”

Glimmer doesn’t ask for details. She blinks there immediately…

* * *

Lays a hand on the stone column and says “Salineas.”

The portal opens and the three bridges slide into place.

As soon as gangway is established, Sea Hawk comes running through, carrying little Adora in a swaddle. His clothes are disheveled, lacking the jacket for his uniform, and blood soaks his shirtsleeve. In his free hand he carries a Candilan breech-loader, still smoking from the barrel.

Mermista slides in afterwards on a cushion of water, in a stylish dress that’s been ripped at the skirt. “Close it!” she yells.

Glimmer does; the portal winks out immediately. “What happened?”

Mermista lets herself onto solid ground next to Sea Hawk. “How is she?”

Little Adora begins wailing.

“She’s fine, love,” he says.

“What happened?” Glimmer says.

Mermista looks at her, bewildered. "Horde invasion. I have no idea where they came from, but suddenly there’s… I don’t know _hundreds_ of Horde soldiers in my palace. They—

“They’ve captured the seat of government. They have everything: the admirals, the guild masters, the church… We— We’ve been conquered. In one day.”

Glimmer goes over her. “You’re not the first high-born exile I’ve received this week.”

“They have the White Pearl,” Mermista says.

“One second,” Glimmer says, and blinks away…

* * *

Into the throne room, on the throne podium.

“Your Majesty, what’s going on?” someone asks. Glimmer ignores them.

“Marmoo, good, you’re still here,” Glimmer says.

Marmoo, who was just about to head his delegation back to their seats, is slightly startled, but turns once more to face her.

Glimmer takes off, gliding down to face him. She doesn’t land, but skillfully glides all the way up until they are face to face, a yard apart. “Salineas. That’s his game?”

“I’m not sure I follow, Your Majesty,” Marmoo says.

“Tell Hordak this: if he as much as lays a finger on the White Pearl — on _any_ Runestone — I will declare every citizen of the Hordelands to be an enemy combatant, and act accordingly with extreme prejudice. Starting with _you._ ”

Despite being couched in jargon, Marmoo takes the threat of genocide for what it is. “I shall be sure to convey your words exactly,” he says.

Then Glimmer blinks away…

* * *

Back to the waygate chamber, where Mermista is sitting cross-legged on the floor, holding little Adora; Sea Hawk is kneeling next to her. His shirt sleeve has been torn off and his arm is bandaged with it.

Little Adora has calmed down again.

“Okay,” Glimmer says. “I’ve just threatened Hordak with total war if he tampers with the Pearl, so you don’t need to fear that; let’s get you situated —” she gestures to the guards “— you’ll need a protection detail, of course which I will happily provide; I’ll get Adora to tend to your wounds.” She digs out her communicator.

“Do you have any idea how they got to us?” Sea Hawk asks Glimmer. “You said there was another.”

“We think the Horde has developed the ability to open portals —” she nods to the waygate “— but to _anywhere._ ”

“Then what’s to stop them from coming here?” Mermista asks.

Glimmer pauses.

Mermista looks up at her. “What if they come to Brightmoon?”

“Yeah,” Glimmer says. “Fuck. Let me look into that, let me just delegate some stuff…”

Sea Hawk hugs Mermista tighter.

“What are we going to do about a wet-nurse?” Mermista mutters, as Adora paws on her breasts, hungry.

* * *

The news spread like wildfire. Glimmer blinks in Adora who was in the middle of a lecture, today on the subject of special operations, apropos nothing.

Adora easily heals Sea Hawk’s arm, and takes them aboard the Swift Wind, allaying Mermista’s worries by explaining in detail what a spacecraft is, why it’s probably impossible to open a portal onto it, and what the automatic security system does to anyone who dares wander its halls armed and unwelcome. It involves machine guns that come out of hatches in the ceiling.

Glimmer calls Bow.

“Hey, Your Majesty, I’m in the middle of Conclave, so this better be important.”

“Salineas has fallen. Mermista and Sea Hawk are in exile, here in Brightmoon.”

Bow pauses. “Shit!”

“The portal hypothesis is pretty much confirmed; I… I don’t know what to do. They could hit Brightmoon tomorrow.” Glimmer runs a hand through her unruly hair.

“What would your mother have done?” Bow asks.

“I don’t know. She’d hide in the Palace and palace and hope the Dome could hold them out —” Glimmer pauses rubs her chin “— You know what… Thanks.”

Bow smiles. “I’m not sure for what, but you’re welcome.”

Glimmer hangs up. She paces for a few steps, then blinks away…

* * *

Into the dungeon.

The white stone walls are starting to become familiar.

Glimmer opens the door to the main cell, where Shadow Weaver is, predictably sitting behind her desk.

“Hey, I need your help with something.”

Shadow Weaver puts her pen down. “Do you now, Your Majesty.” She leans back. “This is the third time you come to me for my aid. So let us strike a deal.”

Glimmer holds out a hand and materializes her father’s staff. “Are you in a position to make demands?”

“Are you in a position to refuse my help? It is nothing sinister I ask.”

“What?”

“Fresh air, sunlight. Once upon a time, I quite liked gardening.”

Glimmer rolls her eyes. “Fine. I see no reason to deny that beyond personal ones. You may tend to the Palaces’ winter gardens, under the supervision of my guards and gardener. Do we have an accord?”

Shadow Weaver stands. “We do. Now what seems to be the matter?”

“You mentioned anti-portal wards.”

“I did.”

“We need one. Right now. Covering the entire city if you can, or the palace alone if you cannot.”

Shadow Weaver shakes her head. “Cannot be done.”

“Listen, Shadow Weaver, either it is done, or Hordak’s forces will portal directly into this palace, and your head will be on the chopping block. Besides, I have an idea of how to do it.”

“Pray tell?”

“We’re going to adapt the Brightmoon Dome spell, it is a barrier spell for protecting the city which my mother created a half hundred years ago; it is linked to the power of the Moonstone. Her notes on it are in my personal library.”

Shadow Weaver holds out a hand. “If time is of the essence, then let us make haste.”

Glimmer takes it and blinks them both.

* * *

Catra ascends to the highest point on the city, the ancient light house atop the rock outcropping that shields the large natural harbor from the rage of the sea. From there, she sees the city, _her_ city.

Bit by bit, Horde standards are raised from official buildings, and what little resistance is posed by enclaves of armed forces determined to disobey their more cooperative superiors, are dealt with swiftly and thoroughly.

She takes out her brand new pocket-sized communicator. Such a wondrous device; they are already working to distribute them to the entire officer staff. She detaches the small earpiece from the device and fits it in her ear — it expands to fit, while still permitting sound to enter.

“Voice call Chancellor Hordak.”

There’s a beep of acknowledgement. The device can transmit visual feed as well, but Catra prefers not to. Phone calls are after all, a known quantity.

There’s the different beep of the call being accepted.

“ _Catra._ ”

“The city is ours,” she says. “The Thalassocracy of Salineas is now officially a satellite state of the Hordelands; those in key positions of power have all acknowledged our right by conquest.”

“ _And the Empress?_ ”

“She escaped. But it is no matter. The government officials are willing to denouncing her cowardice. The transition of power should be a smooth one.”

“ _Unfortunate but acceptable. Congratulations, your doctrine appears to be successful._ ”

“Thank you, sir.”

“ _… Deference, Catra? We are of equal and orthogonal rank, remember?_ ”

“Force of habit, Hordak.”

“ _And yet, oddly appropriate. I need you back in the Fright Zone. Your campaign of conquest ends with Salineas._ ”

Catra spins. “What? Why? And on whose authority?”

“ _Because we have shown our hand. The enemy has proven capable of deeply infiltrating our heartlands, and I have just recieved notice that the Queen of Brightmoon is… Shall we say, under some pressure. She might act rashly. You are the only one I trust to take on this task of defense._ ”

“And then what? We let the Alliance be?”

“ _Not so. With Horde Primes’ arrival imminent, I must take to the field and prove myself, lest I be judged a coward. I will lead the foray into the Kingdom of Snows._ ”

Catra grits her teeth. She wants to protest, but he is, as always, right. “Good luck, sir.”

“ _Thank you._ ”

Catra hangs up. She looks out over the city, the vista now soured by this being her final achievement in the war.

Now she’ll never get to show that… Show her worth.

“Call Scorpia.”

There’s a beep. Then a wait. Then another beep.

“Hey. I wasn’t sure you were going to pick up.”

No reply.

“Silent treatment, huh?”

Catra begins descending the stairs of the light house.

“You’re still mad about the other day… Hey, listen. I’m being pulled back. Hordak has decided to play war, trying the Supreme Commander hat on once more. He just swoops in and steals all the glory and all my hard work. Even when he’s winning he’s a pain in the ass.”

No reply.

“Look… I; I was thinking maybe we could patch things up. I was under a lot of stress, and in the end everything turned out fine.”

No reply.

“Maybe we could meet at the bar? I’ll be back in Capital —” she consults her wrist watch “— around noon. Lunch? Does that sound good?”

No reply.

“You know what, I’ll be there, all right? You show up if you want.”

Catra hangs up, and exits the lighthouse.

* * *

Mermista and Sea Hawk get comfortably situated in one of the ship’s three ‘family’ suites. Adora registers them as ‘occupants’ rather than mere guests, which grants a few additional permissions. She orders fresh clothes from the fabricator, and hot food — well, _heated_ food — from the kitchens. Little Adora gets a bottle of formula, which Mermista gets her to take after some prodding.

“So. I know it’s painful and fresh still,” Adora says. “But I need to know what happened.”

“It started this morning; Salinean time,” Sea Hawk says. “Horde Soldiers appeared in the courtyard, the lobby, and probably a few other places. We barricaded ourselves in a safe-room, and waited for reinforcements from the city garrison.”

He sighs.

“I should of course have known that they wouldn’t come,” Sea Hawk says. “If what the Queen says is true, and they have access to portals, then I imagine they’d already assaulted the city garrison by then, and we just hadn’t received word.”

Sea Hawk looks at his wife and daughter. “So it was us and two imperial guards, in a tiny safe room, and only a matter of time before the Horde broke down the door and who knows… Capture or death seemed equally likely.”

“You made a break for it,” Adora says.

He nods. “I grabbed a rifle, Mermista took all the water in the room. We opened the door and began making our way through the palace to the waygate. I took a hit —” he gestures to where a white scar now adorns his arm “— and Mermista killed maybe fifty of them; grisly stuff,” he chuckles, “did you know a stream of water under high enough pressure can cut virtually anything?”

“I could have taken all of them by myself if it wasn’t for their suits blocking my powers,” Mermista says quietly.

“Yeah,” Adora says. “Glimmer mentioned the Horde has something like that. What difference does it make for you, though? You control water.”

“Blood is water,” Mermista says. “I don’t do it often but I wish I could have today.” She makes a little gesture of an explosion with her fist, and says “ _pop._ ”

Adora pales a little. “You know, I’m glad my Runestone power is just shooting people, because I’m pretty sure I’d get nightmares otherwise.”

“Details of bloodshed aside,” Sea Hawk says, “we made it there, Mermista called Glimmer, and then we came here.”

Adora nods. “Any news from home?”

Sea Hawk shakes his head. “I’m certain the Horde has prevailed, though,” he says. “Salineas is built on principles of order and law, not personal charisma or the whims of her rulers. Those soldiers were unstoppable, they probably have the whole city well in hand by now.”

“I’ll take Swift Wind to go look from a safe distance if you want certainty,” Adora says.

“That would actually be useful to know,” Sea Hawk says.

“Custodian?” Adora asks.

“`Yes?`”

“Can you plot us a course to Salineas, but keep us twenty miles up and thirty miles away? We need to take a look from a safe distance.”

“`Affirmative.`”

The craft subtly shifts under them, as Swift Wind leaves its temporary mooring by the palace belfry: taking Mermista and Sea Hawk all the way to the docks seemed unnecessarily strenuous, and there is nowhere on the palace grounds to land the enormous ship.

“`ETA: forty minutes.`”

“There,” Adora says. “Now, I am going to start calling up the other kingdoms. They need to know that they are in danger. Get some rest, you three.” She stands up.

Mermista looks up. “Thanks, Adora. For everything.”

Adora smiles warmly back. “I’m just helping out where I can,” she says. Then she heads to the door and exits into the hallway.

Her mind starts racing: what would the Horde’s next target be? Candila seems likely, but probably a harder target than Salineas. Snows has given them a boatload of trouble, and is the only thing holding the steppe-lands on the far side of the woods. Apieria is strategically insignificant at the moment.

Then there’s of course Brightmoon, but…

“Call Glimmer.”

She picks up immediately. “Adora, hi! How’s my cousin?”

“I’ve set them up on board the Swift Wind. We’re flying to Salineas to take a look at the city from a safe distance, gather some intel. I’m going to start calling around to the other kingdoms, tell them they might be next. How are we looking on that front?”

Glimmer grins.

“You seem chipper, I hope that’s good news.”

“Oh it _is!_ ” Glimmer says. “I’ve called together aunt Casta, a bunch of Royal witches and wizards, and Shadow Weaver; we’re working on repurposing my mother’s city-wide defensive spells into one that blocks portals — we’ve even made a way to except the waygate!”

“That’s good news — wait, you’re working with _Shadow Weaver?_ ” Adora says.

“Listen, she proved useful for rescuing you, she knows Hordak better than anyone, and she’s forgotten more about magic than I’ve ever learned. I’m not above using such an asset if I have it.”

Adora frowns. “Just… Don’t let her get to you. She’s… Evil.”

“Look, she’s a little bit dark, and a whole lot ambitious, I’ll give you that. But if she steps out of line, as Queen, I give you permission to straight up shoot her. How’s that?”

There’s a faint “ _I heard that!_ ” in the distance.

Glimmer turns away. “And I’m having a private conversation — Adora says to ask how your hand is doing?”

Adora can’t hear the reply. But she can’t help but smile, imagining Shadow Weaver clutching her white-scarred knuckles.

Glimmer smiles back at her. “See? Not friend. Not even ally. Asset. Even convincing Casta to work with her was hard.”

Adora nods.

Glimmer blows her a kiss. “Get calling, general. The other Kingdoms need to know.” She hangs up.

Adora arrives at the mess, and heads into the kitchen. Brewing tea has proven to be a nice little centering ritual.

“Call Frosta,” Adora says.

This one takes a while to go through.

Eventually Frosta’s countenance — behind a heavy scarf, and enshrouded in a fur-lined hood. There’s a _lot_ of shaking, but she must be using the earpiece, as the wind noise is absent. “Adora!” she says. “How are you? How’s the Queen? I haven’t seen you since the whole —” she ducks out of frame, there’s a crack of a whip and she shouts something in her native language “— sorry, I’m out sledding. I haven’t you since the rescue-portal thing. And it’s been a week since I heard from the Queen.”

“Glimmer is… Stressed. Me as well. Listen, Frosta, you need to get back to your palace.”

The smile leaves Frosta’s eyes. “What’s up?”

“Salineas has been conquered by the Horde. They can send their soldiers through portals, directly into your palace. You need to go into highest alert, and be ready to go into exile.”

Frosta looks away and shouts a command, then cracks the whip. “Where would be safe for me to go?” she asks.

“Brightmoon might be, Glimmer is working on something that keeps out portals.”

“All right,” Frosta says. “We’ve protocols in place for usurpation. Even if they do capture the palace, they will find we of the Snows are a stubborn bunch who don’t follow orders well, if at all.”

Adora raises one eyebrow. “Really?”

“My bloodline has its roots across the inner sea, in Apieria. We were driven to travel here because of the old dynasties. Pioneers, free thinkers, unafraid of the dark winters, and ever watchful that our old masters might one day come and impose tyranny once more. So the histories are told, anyway.”

“I did not know that,” Adora says. “Anyway, I’m sure Glimmer would be delinted to have you.”

“Yeah. Oh shit —” and then the call cuts out.

Adora sits there in stunned silence for a moment, and then she receives a picture of Frosta, covered in snow, grinning, with her sled behind her, turned on its side, with two white-clad Snows soldiers working on flipping it back on its skis. The dogs all look bewildered.

She’s fine. Adora breathes a sigh of relief. She takes a sip of tea and bids her device call Perfuma.

Perfuma doesn’t pickup.

Adora calls Bow instead. It takes a minute, but he picks up.

“Hey, I’m in the middle of Conclave, so…” he says.

“What’s Conclave?”

“Annual meeting of the highest Ranger captains. Plumeria, Snows, Brightmoon, everybody. We decide what needs doing to preserve and protect the forest. It’s been a… Busy year.”

“It’s about to get busier. The Horde can open portals now; send their soldiers _anywhere, instantly._ So tell your Ranger buddies that they need to patrol the interior of the forest now, not just the perimeter.”

Bow frowns. “You know, I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Also, I can’t reach Perfuma. I know Plumeria doesn’t have a de-facto government to capture, but it’s not much bigger than Elberon. They could all just be spirited away.”

“There’s as many plant beasts in Plumeria as there are people. If the Horde wants a fight, they will find one there,” Bow says confidently.

Adora nods. “I wouldn’t rate it a high priority target. Snows, Brightmoon, and Candila are much more attractive. Just… She needs to know.”

“I’ll get a hold of her. Talk to you later,” he hangs up.

Adora steels herself before calling Meteora. Last she heard, Peftasteri had made it home safe-ish with at least a majority of their field army intact. They are in full defensive mode as well, and the bombardment has stopped. But even just thinking of the two surviving Star Sisters is enough to remind Adora of the third one, who died in her arms.

“Call Meteora.”

The call goes through. “Hello, She-Ra,” Meteora says. There is no warmth to be found in her demeanor.

“Princess Meteora, I am calling you to warn you: the Horde has developed the capability to open portals, and can now field an army directly into your capital with ease. They have already conquered Salineas in this manner. I urge you to take whatever precautions you see fit in the face of such a threat; protect yourself and the Queen, foremost.”

“We shall do no such thing,” Queen Meteora says. “My sister has made the motion to sue for peace. We have been approached by Horde diplomats and offered terms that we find agreeable.”

Adora blinks. “But— No! You can’t!”

“I assure you we can. My sister and I, foremost, have our subjects in mind. A continued war against such a technologically formidable foe will do naught but further the unnecessary bloodshed. Trade with them, however, will make us wealthy beyond measure.”

Adora looks away in shock, and runs a hand through her hair. “I… I’ll have to tell Glimmer.”

“Our diplomats will if you don’t, worry not.” Meteora smiles.

Adora frowns. “Do you think Cometa would have wanted that?”

“Do not waste my time with derision, She-Ra,” Meteora says, and hangs up.

Adora puts the communicator aside rests her face in her hands.

“ _Shit,_ ” she mutters softly but with profound emphasis.

* * *

In clear weather, fifty miles of distance is easily surmounted by the on-board telescopes of the Swift Wind. The image of Horde standards flying all over town is disheartening enough that Adora doesn’t go to disturb Sea Hawk and Mermista with it.

“Record that for posterity,” Adora says.

The custodian gives a little chime of acknowledgement.

Adora debates with herself what to do next; get the call to Apieria over with, or disturb Glimmer.

At this magnification, the people are specks. Holding the intentionality controller in one hand, she gestures to get a better zoom. Remarkably, apart from the Horde patrols, it seems like the people are going about their days.

By chance, Adora pans past a lighthouse up on the edge of the natural harbor and spots — no, it can’t be. She zooms further.

Catra. Unmistakably. And in a general’s uniform no less.

Adora lingers on the image. “So it _is_ you, she mutters to herself.”

And… _Is she talking to herself? No. She’s having a conversation._

Catra puts a finger to her ear.

“Is this woman there using a communicator?”

“`Yes.`”

 _The Horde has communicators._ “Can you listen in?”

“`No. Communicator links are unbreakably encrypted.`”

“How long has she had one of those,” Adora mutters.

“`Timestamp of the device suggests it was fabrrcated just two days ago.`”

She considers going back to the gym. She just went there to work off the jitters and rage after talking to Meteora, and now her hands are shaking again.

The question remains: how did they get those?

“Get us back to Brightmoon.”

* * *

Glimmer’s communicator chimes, and she lets it for a moment, while she lays the last line of glass dust in the massive diagram, blinking it into perfect alignment, rather than dropping it by hand.

She blinks to a safe distance, lets out her held breath and says “There.” Then she accepts the call.

“Hey,” Adora says. “Are you somewhere private?”

Glimmer looks around her. Here on the penultimate floor of the sacred tower, she is surrounded by ten Mystacorian witches not counting Castaspella and Shadow Weaver. She blinks into the stairwell. “Now I am.”

“I was just scouting Salineas — from a safe distance. It’s been taken over,” Adora says.

“As I expected.”

“ _Catra_ was leading it, as I suspected.”

’Yeah?"

“She was using a Communicator, which had been made the day before yesterday. So either we leaked on e at Elberon, or Salineas, or they came across one independently, or… Or someone leaked it.”

Glimmer frowns. “None of those seem extraordinarily likely,” she says. “But it does step up the time table.” She hangs up, and blinks back to the work.


	11. Rocks Fall, Everybody Lives a Little

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check the last part of chapter 10, if you read it before Nov. 25th.

They come together aboard the Swift Wind. Adora has rearranged the chairs in the control center into a circle, and dressed herself in uniform befitting of her status as General, in red, of course.

Present and accounted for are herself in the captain’s chair, Glimmer, Huntara, Flutterina, Bow, Juliet, Frosta, Mermista, Spinnerella, and Netossa.

“Welcome everybody,” Adora says. “I realize this is less-than-ideal circumstances, but hopefully we can do something about it. I’m declaring open discussion; and I expect you all to be respectful. Queen Glimmer has the opening statement.”

Adora sits down, and Glimmer stands. Her gala uniform has been switched for her battle-worn brigandine.

“As you’ve heard,” Glimmer says, “Salineas has fallen into Horde hands, and Mermista is Empress-in-exile.” She gestures to Mermista.

Flutterina gasps. “ _Uh! Exile buddies!_ ”

Mermista groans. “Who is this one again?” She is wearing what is essentially a gambeson-coat Brightmoon uniform but in Salinean colors.

“Order,” Adora cautions.

Glimmer continues: “Domestically, the city of Elberon has had its entire population captured, save for the Baroness Flutterina.” Flutterina waves at the group, also in uniform.

“Princess Frosta has come here pre-empting Horde incursion into the Kingdom of Snows, with is currently preparing to resist a hostile takeover of its seats of govenrment.”

Frosta has packed her own clothes, and is wearing her customary light coat with fur trim.

"Spinnerella and Netossa has likewise sought refuge in Brightmoon. And the reson for that is perhaps one of two bits of good news we’ll hear today: My staff of sorcerers has managed to portal-proof the entirety of Brightmoon. I am also informed that a portal-based invasion of Plumeria and Honeydew in Apieria both would result in mass enemy casualties, on account of their resident Princesses. Hence why neither Perfuma or Sweet Bee is present.

“The other bit of good news is Huntara here, who is the New… Or possibly first? She’s the Wielder of the Stone Heart Runestone, in the Crimson Wastes.”

“Charmed,” Huntara says.

“In worse news,” Glimmer continues, "Candila has folded. They’ve surrendered to the Horde and formally withdrawn from the Alliance. I’ve been assured by Queen Peftasteria that they will _not_ be participating in the war effort.

“So, as far as active resistance against the Horde goes, we’re it. And in case any of you are wondering, as Queen, during martial law, I am legally allowed to run special operations at the discretion of no-one but myself,” Glimmer says.

“I don’t think anyone was wondering, Y’Majesty,” Huntara says.

“No, but I just want to underline that although this is clandestine, it is legal under Brightmoon law.”

“So,” Bow says. “What are we doing?”

"We’re hitting the Horde where it hurts. Not all of you have heard, but the current intel suggests that is that the Horde is using fabricators similar to the one aboard Swift Wind to manufacture their new weapons and the portals machines they used to pull that stunt at Elberon and then Salineas.

“The Hidden Library has tracked the location of their largest factory, and we are going to destroy it.”

Flutterina rasies her hand. Adora gives her the word.

“How?” Flutterina asks. “Isn’t it all the way in the Fright Zone, and we’re only —” she counts “— ten people?”

“We’re Runestone Wielders, kid,” Huntara says. “Each one of us is worth a hundred soldiers.”

“Give or take me, Juliet, and you, Flutterina,” Bow adds.

“Order? Please?” Adora says.

“Oh. Then why are _you_ here?” Flutterina asks. “I can at least fly.”

Glimmer takes the word. “Flutterina, I’ve given you _one_ lesson, you _cannot_ fly. Bow is here because he is a capable special operative, and his trustworthyness is unimpeachable on account of being my lifelong friend. Juliet is much the same, and I trust my life on a daily basis. Please refrain from insulting them.”

Flutterina blushes. “Sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Bow says and smiles.

“Okay, I’m going to have to insist on the speaking order thing,” Adora says.

“To get back to the matter at hand,” Glimmer says. "The plan is that Huntara has prepared us a substantial quantity of rock which we are about to go drop

Everyone sits there in stunned silence for a moment.

“That seems—” Netossa says.

“Straightforward?” Huntara suggests. “How many rocks are we talking?”

“Let’s start with… A thousand tons,” Glimmer says, beaming.

Huntara grins, and cracks her knuckles.

“Now, since we’re not using any bombs or anything, munitions can likely be acquired virtually anywhere. This means we can do repeat runs with relative ease,” Glimmer says. “I also thin we should do a sortie to inspect the aftermath and judge the effectiveness of this strategy.”

“When do we start?” Huntara says.

“Ideally today,” Glimmer says, “I want us dropping rocks by tomorrow, latest.”

Mermista raises her hand.

“Mermista?” Adora says.

“All right, like, something completely different. Does this flying ship have any cannons?”

“If you are asking whether Swift Wind has a main gun, in the sense that battleships do, no,” Adora says. “That’s why we’re dropping rocks.”

“And point defense?”

“Yes! We do have a point defense system,” Adora says proudly. “A really good one, too.”

“And can this point defense system shoot down Horde aircraft?” Mermista continues.

Adora tilts her head. “Custodian?”

“`Resisting the point defense system would require heavy armor or advanced active defenses.`”

“Aircraft are pretty flimsy,” Adora says. “I see where you’re going with this. You’re suggesting we use the Swift Wind as an attack platform to eliminate Horde air superiority. That could work.”

“That could work very well indeed,” Glimmer says.

“I’m suggesting this,” Mermista says, “because while burying a factory might stop new arcraft from taking flight, the ones already there are a problem for everybody. They might turn them on other targets when they run out of _our ships_ to shoot.”

“Okay, I’m going to propose a timeline, tell me if you have any objections,” Glimmer says. “Today, Huntara and company to-be-determined, will render rocks for the drop, while… Adora, Bow, Mermista, and company to-be-determined, will take the Swift Wind out hunting for Horde aircraft. Who’s with Huntara?”

“I know the dimensions of the drop-doors and the cargo hold,” Juliet says.

“I’d like to see our new Wielder in action,” Netossa notes.

“Me too!” Frosta says.

“Me as well!” Flutterina says.

“And who’s going hunting with Adora and Bow?”

“I’m in,” Mermista says. “Obviously; it was my idea.”

“I would like to see Swift Wind in action,” Spinnerella says.

“And that leaves myself,” Glimmer says. “I’m going to make some preparetions of my own.”

* * *

They touch down in a quarry that was abandoned after the construction of the Brightmoon Palace. Its remote location to the south, meant even though white marble is still in vogue among nobility, it is simply not profitable.

Huntara and the rest of the ground team file into the elevator.

“What’s in your pack?” Netossa asks Juliet.

At some point along the way from the control center, the drone named Emily came by with a heavy backpack for Juliet.

“Provisions and water.”

Netossa looks at the other three. “That’s good thinking. Why didn’t I think of that? Why didn’t you?”

“Excuse me,” Frosta says, “but speaking for myself, I am an irresponsible child.”

“Oh! Me too!” Flutterina says, conspiratorially.

Huntara shrugs. “I had a big breakfast.”

“Good thing there’s two sane responsible adults on this team,” Netossa says.

“One of whom forgot to pack lunch,” Juliet notes dryly.

She’s not going to admit that it was Bow who reminded her. Ever.

* * *

“Hey, Kitten.”

“ _Don’t call me that. Especially not in that voice._ ”

“Yeah, wahtever. Heads up: Queen Sparkles is planning on dropping a thousand tons of rocks on your little factory. Expect it… That’ll be night-time for you.”

“ _Not an issue. We’re already decentralizing production to two-dozen locations._ ”

“Also, She-Ra is taking her spacecraft out to hunt your little fleet of anti-ship aircraft.”

“ _Probably nothing we can do about that, though I was hoping we could deny them use of the sea in the long term._ ”

“There’s also something called the ‘Hidden Library’ which she uses to track your factories. It _sounds_ like she intends to keep going until you’ve got nothing left.”

“ _Hm. If we have to house each fabricator in its own shed half a mile apart, we can do that. If you can get more leads on their tracking capability, it would be appreciated._ ”

“I’ll keep an ear out. How goes it on your end?”

“ _I’ve been called back to the Fright Zone permanently. For a moment there, it looked like I would have to hand you off to some onther poor sod of a handler._ ”

“Oh, you _know_ I deserve nothing but the best, anyway, I’m risking my cover. Ta!”

Flutterina hangs up, and stuffs her communicator in a pocket, then hurries back to the others down in the open pit. Jumping, she takes off in a smooth glide down to land by Netossa.

Huntara is standing a few dozen paces away, concentrating with her hands folded, fingers intertwined. Almost like praying.

Then the ground rumbles, and in an ear-splitting cacophony, a standing-stone erupts from the ground in a shower of sand and gravel.

“Sorry!” Huntara yells. “I had to dig deep to find good stock. Didn’t want to just come up for air.”

“That’s a good start!” Juliet yells.

“How does your power work?!” Frosta calls out excited.

“Do it again!” Flutterina shouts.

Huntara’s steadfast demeanor waves for a moment in the face of such raw enthusiasm. She blushes. “Geez, you guys are giving me performance anxiety.”

“Yeah girls, give her some space. Especially you, _Juliet,_ ” Netossa says.

* * *

Adora leans back in the captain’s chair. “All clear, let’s go. Set a heading southeast, rise to… Twenty miles of elevation, engage detection and ranging systems. Find us some aircraft.”

Mermista sits to her left, smiling grimly. Sea Hawk has taken a seat next to her, and Little Adora is sleeping in a hovering cradle in the corner, under a sound-absorbing field.

Spinnerella has taken a seat to Adora’s right. “Oh this is exciting,” she says. “How does it fly?”

“Honestly? I have no idea,” Adora says.

Bow sits down between the large consoles. He has donned a silvery half-mask without eye-holes, and the accompanying sleek black gloves with inlaid crystal panels. He gestures in the air, and mutters to himself.

“Say, when did Bow learn how to helm this ship?” Sea Hawk asks.

“Pilot,” Adora corrects, “and it’s technically a spacecraft, not a ship. I don’t know how he has made time for it. He’s the Corps Captain of the Southern Rangers now; I can’t imagine the paperwork.”

“It’s called delegating!” Bow calls back. “And unlike soldiers, stupid Rangers tend to remove themselves from the ranks purely by nature. There’s less paperwork than you might think.”

“Oh, I envy you that,” Adora says.

Bow lifts the mask to his forehead, and spins to face the others. “Yeah, well, rather than use it for leisure, I decided to put it to use: learn how to fly Swift Wind ‘by hand’ so to speak.”

“I have to ask,” Spinnerella says. “This window here,” she gestures to the walls and ceiling of the control center. “I didn’t see it from the outiside…”

“It’s not a window, it’s just a projection,” Adora explains. “But it is a true image.”

“`Desired height reached. Contact spotted.`”

Bow puts the mask back on and spins around towards the front of the ship. “Everybody hold on,” he says.

There’s no actual need to hold on, but Bow pushes the Ship’s acceleration to the safe limit, and they scream across the sky, nearly invisible from the ground.

Adora reaches for a pair of gloves and a mask too. “Tag me in,” she says.

Bow reliquishes control of the ship to her, and takes over the point defense.

On the outside of the ship, sixteen turrets emerge from the hull, each of them a dome of incredibly clear crystal, and fitted with an impossibly shiny mirror on a gimbal.

Deep in the ship, the three point defense ray guns warm up, and the lenses, prisms and beam redirectors connecting them to the external turrets calibrate themselves in a split-second.

The walls of the control room zoom to show their target: a cluster of three flying boats far below them.

Adora brings them in smartly from above, Swift Wind’s underbelly virtually invisible from below.

“Fire when ready,” Adora says.

“Range: seven miles, two hundred yards, firing.” Bow pulls his trigger and lets three beams of energy manifest and then vanish, within the blink of an eye. The three planes start emitting smoke and careeening, rapidly losing altitude.

“That is a welcome sight,” Mermista notes.

“Okay, we have more targets,” Adora says. “ _Many_ more. This is going to be a long afternoon.”

* * *

Glimmer enters the atrium garden in her customary manner. By appearing in a puff of light. She spots Shadow Weaver on her knees, hands deep in the dirth, planting some kind of small bush. The gardener, a charming middle-aged woman with kind eyes, is resting her hands on her shovel, taking a keen interest in Shadow Weaver’s work.

“Shadow Weaver,” Glimmer says.

“Your Majesty. Good afternoon.”

“When Adora came here, the sorcerers at Mystacor had to clear her of your tracking spells. Would I be _completely_ wrong to assume you have a similar arrangement in place for your _other_ adoptive daughter?”

Shadow Weaver brushes the soil off her hands, and rises. “I do. What do you intend to use it for?”

“I intend to capture Catra. Failing that, killing her would be the next best thing.”

“Ah. Very well, allow me to just wash up, and I shall teach you.”

* * *

Catra looks at the sorry serving in front of her, slowly growing cold. She’s not really hungry; and besides this _is_ borderline-rancid by-catch. Fish prices have risen dramatically with the Salinean ocean occupation, and have yet to fall to affordable levels now that the seas are clear again.

For a moment there, they might have had to impose rationing.

“Voice call Scorpia.”

The call picks up.

“Hey, I’m here if you want to talk,” Catra says quietly. “It’s not like you to be late.”

No reply.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? There. I said it.” She looks out the window at the unsteady weather. It might rain, it might not. That’s summer in the Fright Zone to you.

No reply.

“You know, I thought winning would be different. More… I don’t know. Fun?”

No reply.

“I’ll kill you if you’re at home moping. Stop being so sensitive and talk to me.”

No reply.

“All right, that’s it, I’m coming over.”

Catra digs out her wallet and leaves a slim tip, empties her beer, throws on her jacket and leaves.

“Good seeing you, General!” the bartender calls after her.

She flips him the bird on the way out.

* * *

It’s a treacherous drive on wet streets to the mansion that Scorpia lives in.

To Catra it’s a mystery they spent so much time at her dingy little apartment.

Catra enters the drive to the house, and is stopped by the gate watchman. “Identity and business at the Fright Estate?”

“You know who I am.”

“Respectfully, ma’am, the Princess has removed you from the visitors’ list.”

Catra grits her teeth. She pulls aside her lapel, showing her rank insignia. “ _General_ Catra. Official discussion of classified matters.”

A bald faced lie. Whatever.

“Come right on through, ma’am,” the man says and lets her in.

She parks her car by the main gate, and heads up the stairs. The front gate is locked. Catra hammers on the door. After waiting for a minute for some aide or something to come open, she digs through her jacket pocket for a set of lockpicks.

The lock gives in quickly under her admittely rusty skill with them.

Inside is dark, and Catra proceeds cautiously, aided by her night vision. She draws her service revolver — favored by officers senior enough to have seen them become obsoleted by the self-loading pistol. “Hello?” she says.

No answer. It is dead quiet. A look in one of the rooms show sheets draped over the furnishings. The almost black dark-red drapes are nowhere to be seen.

She makes her way to the suite on the upper floor, and touches her earbud. “Voice call Scorpia.”

It picks up.

“Hey, where _are_ you?”

There’s a faint murmur somewhere on the premises.

Catra takes the earbud out and taps it, listening intently for the sound. It comes from beyond the double-doors to the suite. She replaces the earbud.

She tries the handle. Locked. This time she doesn’t care about covert entry, and kicks the flimsy lock apart.

Heading inside, she sweeps the few rooms, and finally comes upon the bedroom.

There on the night stand lies a communicator. A rod of wax has been placed directly on the screen where one touches to pick up voice calls.

Under it lies a note. She breaks the wax seal.

> _Hey Wildcat._
> 
> _I can’t do this anymore, not without you. Which is to say, I’m leaving. To set right what I did wrong._
> 
> _To Whom it May Concern._
> 
> _The truth is, Princess Entrapta never betrayed anyone—_

Catra crumbles up the note. Her heart pounds in her ears, her breath quickens, and only because of her artificial spine, does her tail not fluff up.

Frantically she digs out her lighter and lights the paper on fire. She holds it in her fireproof left hand while it burns to ashes.

She pockets the communicator.

Then she scours the room for signs of another note, and finding none, spends a few minutes getting her breathing under control, before heading downstaris, and directly to her car and driving off.

In an alley way, she beats Scorpia’s communicator into scrap with her revolver, and throws it in a dumpster.

Her own communicator chimes. She picks up.

“ _Hey, kitten._ ”

* * *

Catra arrives by the Advanced Manufacturing complex with a police escort.

She’s opening the door even before having completely stopped, and leaves it that way as she runs in, headed for the admininistration center.

The guards salute as she runs to the communications room, bursts inside, and muscles a technician out of her seat.

She flips the intercom to ‘all’ and pushes the ‘talk’ button.

“This is General Catra. Begin code-blue takedown procedure, cease work immediately, recover critical materiel only, the entire complex must be down to minimal personnel only in one hour. This is not a drill, I repeat, this is not a drill.”

The next hour, she spends shouting orders to idiot technicians who want to save their precious pet projects. By the end of it, one hundred and fifty-seven fabricators, ten power generators, and crates upon crates of data crystals and bits and pieces, have been loaded onto trucks and sent away.

After that she spends another hour arguing with logistical officers: the decentralization effort needs to be stepped up, and everything these people know about economics of scale has already been out of date for weeks by now.

* * *

The call comes in from Glimmer while they are on the return anyway. The rocks are ready.

Adora brings the Swift Wind down to the quarry, as evening falls, and in the center of the crater is rows and rows of standing stones. Bow is in the cargo bay, Mermista and Sea Hawk have retired for the evening.

In the so-called ‘virtual space,’ her viewpoint is one where the ship doesn’t exist. Bow — as well as all the others — are voices in her ear. Bow’s control over the ship is abstracted in the form of how they’ve chosen to allocate responsibilities.

Swift Wind has an actual cargo bay adjoint to the vehicle bay, and it is indeed voluminous, if not exactly enormous. The ramp opens at the rear of the ship, and lowers onto the ground with eerie silence.

“Did somebody ask for a ride?” Adora says, through the external speakers. She can see the six of them — Flutterina, Frosta, Netossa, Juliet, Huntara, and Glimmer — standing in a little crowd. Bow heads partway down the ramp. “You can load them up now.”

“All right,” Netossa says. “Gently now, yeah?”

Huntara takes a stance, and with a slow motion ‘pulls’ two of the ten feet tall stones towards her; they slide over the gravel, and as they come within reach, she picks them up as if they weighed pratcially nothing. Her fingers dig into the rough granite — she’s dug below the fragile marble for something stronger — like it is soft clay.

Only by observing how the ground shakes when she walks, can one see how heavy those stones are.

“Are my eyes decieving me or do those things have fins?” Bow asks.

The stones are cylindical, but with a top that tapers into a three-pronged cross-section. The edge of the bases are beveled deeply, like they started out with a conical tip and had to truncate it to get it to stand up.

“Yeah,” Netossa says. "I made some suggestions to make them better able to drop.

Bow helps guide Huntara to place each stone over its own drop-chute. There are several dozen such, and they sit side-by-side without seam, so opening multiple chutes at once can let larger bodies drop; smaller spacecraft, large vehicles, for instance.

The others file into the interior of the ship, and eventually trickle into the command center.

Adora puts her mask up to greet them.

They take off with high spirits, and for a moment it feels like they are flying to victory.


	12. Rocks Fall, Everybody Dies Inside

It’s almost a party, the above-atmosphere flight to the Fright Zone.

“A toast!” Huntara says, as soon as the first round of drinks come around. “To Netossa, a most capable coach. If any of you Runestone Wielders here ever need one, I heartily recommend her.”

There’s a round of applause.

Netossa and Spinnerella trade notes. Flutterina and Frosta are giggling about things in a corner. Huntara chats with Juliet.

Bow and Adora are both staying sober, gloves and masks at hand.

Glimmer stands by herself. This mission is her design, but there’s always the nagging doubt that it can’t be that easy.

* * *

Swift Wind comes to a stop a hundred miles above the Fright Zone. The view from the control center shows Etheria curving away below them, and the shape of eastern Erulia and wester Crenea can be seen with greater accuracy than virtually any map ever made.

Bow is responsible for the final positioning to drop. “All right, I think I have it. I can see the complex down below. The ‘simulation’ tells me it’s going to hit.”

“Let’s start conservatively,” Adora says. She has her virtual hands on the drop chutes. “Dropping six.”

There’s no sound, but from on the wall display, the others are watch as six projectiles fall into the dark.

“This is going to take about five minutes,” Adora cautions. “It’s a long way down.”

The whole congregation waits with bated breath.

Glimmer’s communicator chimes. She accepts the incoming video call.

“Your Majesty.” It’s George.

“George,” she says. “We’re in the middle of an operation.”

“I know, you’re above the Fright Zone,” he says. “I’m assuming you’re about to engage that ‘factory’ we’ve been tracking?”

“Correct.”

“Well… It’s not there anymore.”

Glimmer turns her full attention to George. “What do you mean it’s not there, we have it in our sights! Once our weapon hits, sure, but right now?”

“I mean, whatever First-Ones’ technology they had there isn’t there anymore.”

“Where then?”

“From what we’ve been observing since around noon, it’s on the move.”

“Thank you, George,” Glimmer says and terminates the call. “I’m calling off the mission; change of plans,” she says. “We’ll hang around until we can see the results of the impact, and then…”

The others all look at her.

“One moment.” Glimmer runs out of the control center; not to anywhere in particular, just to get away from the crowd.

“I need a bowl of water,” Glimmer calls out. “At least a yard wide.”

She heads into the armory. Shortly after, Emily arrives with a floating tray holding a wide bowl of water. Glimmer transfers it to a table, and digs through her pocket for the herbal mix Shadow Weaver gave her. The language of flowers is but another language to do magic in, and coupled with the pendant with a lock of hair, the name, and the likeness from a photograph, every advantage has been stacked on top of one another.

Glimmer spreads the herbs on the water, chants the incantation, makes the gestures.

The whole thing takes so long that the impacts happen a hundred miles below her feet, without her being there to watch.

The water’s surface becomes clear, then mirror-like, and then it begins showing an image. Catra.

She’s standing in a disheveled uniform, on top of a hill, surrounded by a few dozen soldiers in a type of armor that matches Sea Hawk’s sketch. She’s using binoculars to inspect the carnage in the distance.

Glimmer runs back to the control center.

* * *

Adora’s communicator chimes. A voice-only call from Catra. “Everybody quiet for a second!” She puts it on for everyone to hear. Glimmer comes in just in time to hear the greeting:

“ _Hey Adora,_ ” Catra says.

“Catra,” Adora says.

“ _I see you got your dear old mommy’s spacecraft up and flying?_ ”

“How do you know about that?”

“ _It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out after you shot down all our planes._ ”

“If you’re calling just to taunt us, I’m going to hang up,” Adora says.

“ _Listen, this little bombing run of yours? It won’t work. We’re already moving things underground. We expected you might drop in; mayve not so literally._ ”

“How did you get your hands on communicators?”

“ _How do you think? Castle Dryl kept one in their enormous collection of First-Ones’ artifacts. We only got to that part of the pile just a few days ago._ ”

“What did you do with the people Elberon?!” Flutterina shouts.

Glimmer grabs her by the shoulder.

“ _Who’s that?_ ” Catra asks.

“I am Flutterina! The Baroness of Elberon, and _you took my people!_ ”

Glimmer slaps a hand over her mouth.

“ _Oh. We missed one, did we? Honestly, it was just revenge. Queen Sparkles is there with you, isn’t she? What did they call you? ‘Hero of Elberon’ was it?_ ”

“Well, Catra, I’m sure there’s other things you don’t want us bombing,” Adora says.

“ _Yeah, and if you hit anything other than a legitimate target, we’ll take the casualties out of Fluffylina’s people. Tread carefully, Savior of Thaymor._ ”

“You know, I can’t help but notice you’re apparently here, in the Fright Zone, rather than out conquering Salineas, or any of the other Alliance kingdoms,” Adora jeers back. “Did Hordak put you on the bench?”

“ _Hordak defers to my expertise in foiling you knuckleheads, is all._ ”

“Adora,” Glimmer says, “as much as we love hearing you two trade barbs, hang up. Now.”

Adora does. “Sorry.”

“Holy shit,” Huntara says. “You two bicker like you’re an old married couple with something to prove.”

“We do not!” Adora protests.

“You kinda do,” Flutterina says. She flutters up. “Oh! I know! You’re a pair of star-crossed lovers! Generals on opposing sides in a bitter war! One day, love will bloom on the battlefield.”

“Don’t make me shut you up again,” Glimmer says to her.

“Okay, in fear of stating the obvious,” Frosta says. “We’ve been _had._ So what now?”

“First,” Spinnerella says, “we call it a day. We go home.”

“I concur,” Huntara says. “We should count our victories, and learn from our defeats.”

“Well said,” Spinnerella notes.

“Thank you.”

Glimmer sighs. “All right, Adora, take us home.”

* * *

It’s with dourness that they all go each to their own. Adora stays behind on Swift Wind, back in its customary place, in the water outside the Brightmoon harbor.

Netossa, Spinnerella, and Huntara leave together, in quiet conversation, intent on picking up Melissa from her and Huntara temporary lodgings, and perhaps test the waters for a friendship to last an age, as married couples are want to do.

Frosta and Flutterina, tentative friends on account of being of similar ages, none-the-less part ways. Frosta to stay at the embassy, Flutterina at the Palace; cordially accompanied by Juliet.

Glimmer and Bow linger.

“So,” Adora says. “This was… Fun?”

“I think I’m going to hand in my resignation,” Bow says.

“What?!” Glimmer exclaims.

“Yeah, I can’t be Corps Captain, and run these kinds of missions. If this is what the war is coming to, then… The Rangers will get by without me.”

Adora puts a hand on his shoulder. “Bow, are you sure about this? You love the forest.”

“Yeah, and we nearly lost it because of this war. Once it’s over, I’ll go back to it. For now, Adora, you need me as your co-pilot.”

“I’ll be honored to have you,” Adora says.

“Fuck,” Glimmer says.

“What?”

“No it’s just… I mean, today? Doing this?” She sighs. “My mother, before— She said to me that she would trade politics and paperwork for battle in a heartbeat.” She looks towards the palace, clearly visible even in the deep night. “The field army is being disbanded to send soldiers to defend their homes. The navy is in harbor. As far as big decision-making goes, I could get away with delegating and holding court once a week.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want that to end. I… I hate it just as much as she did. But it’s my duty.”

“Glimmer?” Adora says.

“Hm?”

“You’re the Queen. If you don’t want to govern, all you have to do is decide who should in your stead.”

“Pfft!” Glimmer says. “Adora that’s sedition.”

“I’m Horde scum, what did you expect?”

Glimmer nods. “Anyway. Again tomorrow.”

“Again tomorrow,” Bow concurs.

“Again tomorrow,” Adora agrees.

Glimmer blinks away.

* * *

The news come in the morning that the Kingdom of Snows has been invaded by Horde forces appearing in its capital. The Brightmoon diplomats from Snows promptly invite the Hordelands delegation to dinner and spend not a single word discussing the matter.

* * *

“Why us?” Frosta exclaims. “That’s the _lamest_ task!”

Glimmer’s eyebrows shoot up. “Excuse me?”

“You all get to fly around in the spacecraft, while we get stuck in a musty old library?” Flutterina concurs.

“Cousin, Baroness, I am appalled,” Glimmer says. “You two are to be our eyes and ears, in the company of Sir Bow’s parents. Not only is that the safest position for our youngest, but also the _most important._ Or were you not aware?”

Frosta and Flutterina exchange looks. “Uh—” they both say.

“Now are you still going to complain?”

“No, cousin,” Frosta says. “Pardon my outburst, I didn’t know. We’ll do our very best.”

Flutterina salutes.

“Good; now go get dressed for action, we’re there _soon,_ and if things go awry we might need to come pick you up for backup.”

Frosta and Flutterina run towards the armory.

Glimmer rubs her forehead and turns to Bow, Adora, Huntara, and Mermista. That’s the crew for today. Juliet has duties ensuring the security of the entire palace Brightmoon which she cannot shirk without consequence. Netossa and Spinnerella have made the executive decision that their assistance is immaterial, and also they might be hung over.

“You remind me of your mother,” Bow says.

Glimmer shoots him a glare.

“In a good way, mind,” he clarifies.

* * *

They fly a patrol over the Southern Seas, circumnavigating Etheria in an hours’ time. Wisely no Horde aircraft has taken flight.

“Here’s an idea,” Mermista says. “Why don’t we drop some rocks on their ships?”

“You’re really intend on that whole revenge thing, aren’t you?” Adora says.

Mermista takes out her communicator in response to a chime. “Tell me how it goes, I’m on baby duty.”

“Say hi to Adora for me,” Adora says.

Mermista leaves, and Adora puts the mask on, taking manual control of Swift Wind. Not that there’s anything to do with that.

“Adora!”

She takes it off again to see Glimmer and Bow. Both grinning like idiots, holding something that is unmistakably one of Bow’s tracking devices.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a tracker,” Glimmer says.

“And what does it track?”

“ _Catra._ ”

Adora blinks. “Explain?”

“Okay, so, Catra is one of if not _the_ chief mastermind of Horde military doctrine. She is a high priority target.”

“What, we’re going to kill her?” Adora says. “I mean, I’ll pull the trigger, but I’m not sure how I’ll feel about it…”

“No, no,” Bow says. “I was thinking capture and interrogate.”

“Killing is really a last resort,” Glimmer reassures.

“All right, and what about Hordak? Shouldn’t we take him out?”

“And risk Catra taking over the Horde?” Glimmer says.

“Fair point. But don’t we have better things to hunt right now?” Adora asks.

“Of course, but honestly how long can it take to sink a few ships?” Glimmer ask.

* * *

As it turns out, the better part of an afternoon, Brightmoon time. It is almost terrifyingly leisurely. Warships might be moving targets, but to redirect thousands of tons of steel quickly is simply not done, and with the skies clear, they can drop from heights of a mere dozen miles, making it that much easier to hit.

Calling in from the Hidden Library, Frosta and Flutterina note that many of the ships are outfitted with First-Ones’ tech, making it all the more important to take them out.

After the first few drops, Bow has a good sense of targeting, and they have a little table of approximately how many hits it takes to sink something. Mostly that table says ‘at most four.’

They make a stop at a stretch of anonymous rocky terrain, and Huntara fashions them a new load of munitions in half an hour. In total the Horde has less than three hundred seaworthy ships, many of which don’t qualify for kinetic bombardment on account of being too small. Those that do get rocks from the sky are main battleships, nimble destroyers, and light and heavy cruisers.

When they run out of ships in the Southern Sea, they head across land to the Inner Sea and take out the smaller navy operating there as well.

And just for good measure, they then locate the ships in dry-dock and destroy those as well.

There’s a jovial atmosphere in the control center. Sea Hawk lends his expertise on predicting the enemy captains’ responses to bombardment. Glimmer takes to listening to the Horde’s radio chatter — Adora can recite the dots-and-dashes encoding by heart, and from there the Swift Wind’s systems does it automatically — and uses it to track which ships they sink, as the Horde sailors readily give the names away in reporting the losses.

* * *

Heading home to Brightmoon, it feels like a good day’s work, but at least once they hit the powder battery and an entire main battleship blew up. Likely hundreds if not thousands have died at their hands today.

“So,” Huntara says. “What do you think they’ll do about it?”

“You mean retaliation?” Glimmer asks. “I’ve been asking myself that.”

“If I know Catra right, probably something ironic. Maybe open portals and drop fire-bomb on all our ships,” Adora says.

“Say, what is your relation to that Horde general?” Huntara asks. “Former lover?”

“No. No, nothing so salacious,” Adora says. “We grew up together, served together. That’s all.”

* * *

The Horde does no such thing, and that is in itself worrying.

Morning comes without a midnight call about any sort of portal-based attack. Adora gets to eat her breakfast with Mermista, Sea Hawk, and Little Adora — ’Dora as they’ve taken to calling her to disambiguate it.

“I hope you’re not too bothered about living on… Basically the equivalent of a warship,” Adora says.

“Oh, the Swift Wind flies much smoother than any ship any of us has ever sailed,” Sea Hawk says.

“It’s like a vacation,” Mermista says. “I call the embassy once per day, and that’s… That’s it.”

“You sound at once sad and relieved,” Adora says.

Mermista shrugs. “I liked it. Politics. Leading. But it kind of pales in relation to, well—” she tickles ’Dora under the chin.

* * *

Another day goes by, hunting the underground Horde factories which Catra mentioned.

Finding them is easy enough, and they spent the morning conducting a test: granite rods coming in from the upper limits of Etheria’s atmosphere can penetrate more than fifty yards of ground.

They are inbound to the first of the twelve sites, with Frosta and Flutterina standing by at the Hidden Library to confirm any destruction.

“There’s something going on,” Frosta says over the communicator link.

“What?” Glimmer asks.

“The factories are breaking up, the remaining ones. It seems like they are taking _all_ of them down. Through portals.”

“Shit,” Glimmer says. “All right, keep us apprised. Adora, take us home.”

* * *

Home is not where they go.

At the Hidden Library, on the tracking globe, Glimmer, Adora, and Bow behold over the course of half an hour, how the entire fabricator-based production apparatus of the Horde, has turned into a diffuse blanket over the land.

“So, that’s that for bombings?” Frosta asks.

“Not entirely, but the original purpose of it, yes,” Adora says. “We did destroy their navy, but I think Catra will see to it that we’ll never see such inviting targets again.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Flutterina says. “So what do we do now?”

“We keep bombing,” Adora says. “Military camps, factories, harbors…”

“No,” Glimmer says. “We can’t risk the people of Elberon. For now, we bide our time and wait for the Horde to make the first move.”

* * *

Glimmer gets woken up by the call. The light of the screen is almost blinding in the darkness of her bedchambers. “ _What,_ ” she groans.

It’s Bow. He looks tired. “Hey, so, I was just checking the Catra tracker, and I’m getting a weird glitch. I think the spell might be malfunctioning.”

Glimmer rubs her eyes. “Why are you _up_ at this hour?”

“I’m in Mystacor. I figured I’d spend the downtime getting some enhancements. I’m not supposed to sleep while my body acclimates to it. Look —” he turns the camera on his communicator to look at the tracker. “I’ve triangulated it in the usual fashion, and it says Catra is in the Whispering Woods.”

Glimmer perks up. She inspects the video feed of the already blurry display. “That looks by the ley-lines like it’s near the Hidden Library…”

“Yeah, and I called my dads about it. They say there isn’t a trace of First-Ones’ tech anywhere near that location. If you dial the tracking globe just right, it can detect all the personal equipment Horde soldiers carry now.”

Glimmer navigates the menu on her communicator and brings Adora into the call.

“This better be important,” Adora mutters.

“Bow has tracked Catra to the Whispering Woods, but it appears there’s no First-Ones tech with her. I’m trying to evaluate how credible a threat like that is, but I jut woke up,” Glimmer says.

Adora blinks. “Of course.”

“What?” Glimmer asks.

“But then how does she know—”

“Adora please, share what you’re thinking,” Bow says.

“Suppose you’re Catra. Given our failure today, she knows we can track First-Ones’ tech somehow; or at least she suspects it. Now how do you stage a covert operation in the face of that enemy capability?”

“I dunno,” Glimmer mutters. “Don’t do that teachable moment thing. I’m not awake enough for it.”

“You outfit your soldiers with old Horde-made guns and equipment. Untraceable. We have to go. Right now.”

“I can’t,” Bow says. He holds up a hand to show the intricate purple-yellow-white-black pattern inlaid in his skin. “Enchanter’s orders.”

“We need firepower and fast,” Glimmer says, sitting up. “If they’re staging an attack—”

“Shit!” Bow says loudly. “The _one_ time I’m out of commission!”

“We’ll keep the library safe,” Adora says. “I promise.”

Glimmer terminates the call, throws on a robe for modesty, materializes her staff, and blinks to the eastern wing of the palace.

There she knocks on a door to a guest suite.

And waits.

She knocks again.

Netossa opens, dressed in a nightgown. “What?”

“We think the Horde is staging an attack on the Hidden Library.”

The older woman is instantly wide awake. “I’ll come.”

“No Spinnerella?”

Netossa shakes her head. “If we’re about to see combat, no.”

“What, is she sick?”

Netossa looks up and down the hall. “Come inside.”

Glimmer blinks past the door.

“Remember what I said about her having baby fever?” Netossa says.

Glimmer blinks. She covers her mouth. “No!”

“Yeah.” Netossa smiles and blushes. “Keep it on the down low, yeah?”

Glimmer’s surprise and giddiness abates slightly. Very slightly. “Is it really a good time to do that? Now? While we’re at war?”

“It’s as good a time as any and this way I’ll be available to the war effort. Spinny had some of her blood preserved for a future ritual for me, in the unlikely case something happens to her, I can still…”

Glimmer shakes her head. “I’m happy for you, and if you want to talk, I’ll lend you an ear, but right now I need you in combat gear as fast as you can possibly manage. Or if you’re okay with something from the Swift Wind, just come right now.”

Netossa throws a tether across the room, and brings a bundle of leather straps to her hand. Then she holds out the other for Glimmer.

They blink across town, to the harbor, directly onboard the Swift Wind.

* * *

“Adora I’ve been thinking,” Bow says.

“What?” Adora says. She-Ra is always decked out in combat gear, and armed to the teeth.

“You haven’t told Glimmer about her dad yet.”

Adora sighs. “Look, I’ve been looking into the records aobut Micah’s supposed death. I’ve tried to narrow down where he might even be, given the givens. I’m not going to go to her with it without a solid lead.”

“By then it might be too late.”

“I know.”

“`Administrator Glimmer on board.`”

“I gotta run,” Adora says, and hangs up. “Custodain, take us to twenty miles directly above Plumeria. Fast”

“`Affirmative.`”

Adora almost stumbles in the hall, but makes it to the armory.

There she finds Glimmer and Netossa, getting into the second-skin armor suits. Emily comes in with amor for Netossa, fitted for her compensation harness, fresh from the fabricator.

“No Spinnerella?” Adora asks.

“Nope,” Netossa says. “No reason to dance around it; we’re going to have a kid.”

“How?” Adora asks plainly.

“There’s a certain blood ritual, one of the only ones still legal. It’s used for couples that can’t conceive… Or you know, married women like me and Spinnerella.”

Adora stands there fore a moment working through the implications of that.

“And before you ask,” Netossa continues, “yes, I’m the ‘father,’ but it was way less interesting than you think. More ‘medical procedure,’ less ‘fertility ritual,’ if you know what I mean.”

“I don’t,” Adora. “Anyway, if it’s just us three… There’s still a few stones in the cargo bay, and I’m not as good at aiming as Bow is, but…”

“Too risky. They might just call it off,” Glimmer says. “We need to capture Catra.”

Netossa grabs a Toha-Zev rifle, a pair of pistols, and a belt full of knives.

“Do you know how to use one of those?” Adora asks.

“Asked Juliet to teach me,” Netossa explains.

“Good thinking,” Adora says.

“How are we going in?” Netossa asks.

“I was thinking I could blink us,” Glimmer says.

Adora shakes her head. “Too risky. We’d be going in blind. We only know where Catra is. I think we should drop from altitude. That’ll give us time to survey on the way down.”

“What if they have suppressors?” Glimmer asks.

“Then we bring parachutes.”

“Para-what?” Netossa asks.


	13. Catra, Captured?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: death, killing

The drop chute opens beneath them, and the air rushes out of the room, equalizing pressure, with the high altitude outside the Swift Wind. In the well-lit cargo hold beside them sits another ten drop stones.

“All right,” Adora says, her voice carried from her helmet to the others’ ears. “On three.”

“Just jump!” Netossa says, and with a short hop, lets herself plummet into the night sky below.

Glimmer and Adora follow, and Adora, less experienced than the others, tumble for a moment before stabilizing and going into a dive. Glimmer dives falcon, Netossa like diving off a cliff into water. In comparison, with the Aegis providing a bulky flight harness, Adora feels like a plummeting stone.

“All right, we’re braking as close to the ground as possible,” Netossa says. “I know my limits, you know yours.”

Adora brings up the ‘suicide burn’ protocol in her helmet interface.

“What are we seeing down there?” Glimmer asks.

“Movement, definitely,” Netossa says.

“Turn on your vision intensifiers,” Adora says. “It’s built into the visor.”

They all do, and the world beneath turns strange colors, but becomes a lot brighter.

“There must be hundreds of them,” Netossa says.

“And at least one temporary structure, Adora to Swift Wind, please prepare to drop stones on that structure, stand by for go-ahead.”

“`Affirmative, repositioning,`” the Custodian says.

“And the library is being evacuated?” Netossa asks, “because those guys are moving out…”

“As we speak,” Glimmer says. “I’ll sweep the interior, you two go after the soldiers.”

“Roger that, shouldn’t be much of a fight,” Netossa says. “I’ve located a suitable landing area.”

“I see it,” Adora agrees.

“I’m breaking formation,” Glimmer says. “Happy hunting!”

Glimmer gently flares her wings and starts pulling out of the dive, conserving momentum; her wings may be ethereal, angelic, and virtually indestructible but they still have finite strength.

Netossa flips in the air, and throws faintly glowing tethers into the air, which branch into fractal canopies, catching the air and slowing her with abrupt jerk. She grunts with exertion.

Adora flips in the air, and the six articulated jet boosters around her waist spring to life like insect legs and turn their engines instantly to maximum thrust, decelerating Adora with a measured violence; her falling speed slowed to within safe margins in the span of seconds.

Netossa lands a dozen yards away, dismissing her tethers.

Adora forms the Aegis into a shield, and shoulders her anti-materiel rifle one-handed, letting it rest in a cutout in the shield’s edge. Satisfied, she hangs both on the magnetic clamps on her back.

They start moving immediately, their helmet visors helpfully showing an overlay of indicators and ranges extracted from Swift Wind’s overhead view.

Adora is more comfortable in the forest, and takes point, and soon enough they come upon the first group of Horde soldiers — a full platoon of thirty — making their way clumsily through the underbrush.

“Suppressors?” Adora asks.

Netossa sends nigh-invisible, fragile strands out in a web through the forest, as if to catch the suppressor fields in a net. True enough it vanishes near the group. “Yep. Big one. Seems spherical.”

“Glimmer, did you catch that?” Adora says.

“ _I did. Big, spherical. Not the directional ones we’re used to._ ”

Adora brandishes her rifle. “Turn it to ‘low,’ we don’t want to punch holes through too many trees,” Adora says. “Or show them a big glowing line back to where we are.”

“Yeah,” Netossa says.

“Heat vision on,” Adora says, and her visor switches to showing the cool forest in cool tones, and the distant warm bodies of soldiers on the move in similar warm tones.

Adora kneels down behind her shield, and Netossa behind her. They take aim at separate targets, and fire. Two Horde soldiers fall, and Adora and Netossa are taking aim at their next targets, before the soldiers are even fully realizing that they are under fire.

At the lowest setting, the Toha-Zev rifles produce a wispy, almost mirage-like line of disturbance in the air. It still punches through two inches of steel with ease.

The light machine guns are brought to bear, and a lot of bullets tear through the underbrush, none even coming close to their position. Indeed, the commanding officer isn’t even sure which way they are being attacked from, before Adora ends him.

The last few soldiers have the good sense to turn and run. Adora and Netossa pick them off anyway.

“Let’s find some more,” Netossa says, setting the long weapon on her back.

“We should take a look at that suppressor.”

* * *

Glimmer casts a disguise spell on herself, turning the color of the night sky. She probes the suppression fields by the blind spots of her inner eye. This is no hunt. Whatever she needs to do here, she has time to do it right.

The objective is clear: Catra is here. And she needs to go down.

Adora helpfully tells her what she already knows: that the Horde’s new suppressors are spherical.

Fortunately she has Shadow Weaver’s suppressor-detection spell at hand, and, inspired by their forays into kinetic bombardment, she has a tactic to match: her staff. With a simple spell inlaid in it, the ‘punch’ of throwing it can be amplified to the point where even casually throwing it gives it formidable penetration power. Not a terribly relevant thing to do with a wizard’s staff but an option.

Glimmer finds the first suppressor device, and flies directly above it. She activates her staff, drops it, and the wooden shaft punches directly through the canopy and into the delicate magitech machinery causing the suppression.

It’s a quiet ‘crunch,’ and by the heat vision in her visor, there is no-one around to see that part of the camp is now vulnerable.

She moves on to the next one, choosing each time the least-populated area to expose, and even leaving a few of them up, when they happen to be surrounded by soldiers.

Finally comfortable she isn’t going to be cornered, Glimmer lands and casts a modified short-range version of the tracking spell for Catra.

Inside.

Glimmer begins making her rounds of the camp. Soldiers mill around, the left-behind support for the mission team. Some are sleeping, others are eating, others again are doing maintenance tasks. Very few are talking. No lights are lit.

She starts killing. Droplets of blood in her palm, switched for air bubbles in their arteries. It is quiet and grim work; there’s around forty-five people in the camp. Glimmer kills everyone she can get away with — everyone not wearing personal suppressors, and not being in company of those who are — one after another, sweeping through like an almost mythological bringer of death.

Doing it this intentionally, she wants to puke. Her glove is wet with blood.

Finally, she takes off, landing gently on the roof of the temporary warehouse-like building, made of corrugated sheet metal. She maps out where the Suppressors are inside, noting the location on her visor.

That done, she pauses for a moment to give an order using her visor interface, then glides down, and heads in the front gate.

Inside are crates and parts of equipment.

And her mark: Catra.

“Hello, Catra.”

Catra looks up. “Shoot. I wasn’t expecting to be found out that fast.” She turns to the three other soldiers in there with her. “Sound the alarm! Send for portals! Full retreat!”

The men begin running out the back.

Glimmer kicks off sideways, with a powerful beat of her wings, intercepts the three soldiers and casts a small invocation of the Second Flame of Elm and douses all three of them in liquid fire. They run into the night, screaming and yelling, alerting the remaining survivors.

“Don’t bother, Catra,” Glimmer says. “I’ve won. Surrender now, or I will _hurt_ you.”

Catra blinks. She holds up her left hand. Then makes a rude gesture. With her right hand, she draws the long-hilted sword she took from Tung Lashor. “I’d like to see you try, Queen Witch.”

Glimmer invokes the fourth flame, and shoots a concentrated beam of heat through the space Catra just occupied, as the other woman dodges nimbly to the side; Glimmer redirects the stream to follow Catra’s movement, but finds her quarry always occupying the space she just targeted. The beam of fire cascades over the crates, lighting the wood on fire, and perforating a fuel tank, spilling flammable liquid all over one corner of the large shed.

Catra has closed the distance; Glimmer casts another spell, but Catra’s claws swipe through the rune diagram even as it forms in the air, then brings the sword down. Glimmer parries with her staff, then dances away with the lightness afforded by her angelic heritage. “Your sword form leaves a lot to be desired.”

“I’m self taught.” Catra twirls the heavy, long-hilted blade behind her. Then she lunges ahead with superhuman speed, toe claws digging furrows in the floor boarding. Glimmer casts the first flame, and the spell takes for but a split second before the tip of Catra’s sword cleaves the diagram; the gust of searing air ruffles her uniform, and sends her cartwheeling, but she finds her feet again and darts at Glimmer.

Glimmer thrusts her staff out, and Catra dodges; then she drops into a spinning low kick, and Catra jumps.

Glimmer rolls aside, and the third flame of Elm opens up an inferno where she just was — circle drawn with the heel of her boot. Catra vaults out of the fire on the tip of her sword, uniform singed and smoking,

“At this rate, I’m going to have to grab a gun to keep up with you,” Catra says.

“Test my bullet-wards all you want,” Glimmer shoots back.

“Yeah. But it’s not going to get to that.”

A soldier peeks into the beginning inferno that has become the inside of the temporary structure. “Everything is in order! Portal is here!”

“Here’s the deal, Sparkles. I’ve planted a bomb. A _big_ one. It’s not First-Ones’ tech, but it will level two thousand acres of forest. Fuze is lit, clock is ticking, you have about ten minutes to find it, or there will be a big hole where once there was… Well, this place, the Hidden Library, and a few other things.”

Catra twirls her sword and sheathes it. “So, choose. Me? Or your friends and the forest.”

Glimmer draws her pistol — the less-popular sister to the Yala-Zev — and shoots out the two suppressors hiding in the rafters, hitting both without looking. “Tell me where it is or I’ll shoot you where you stand,” she says, pointing the gun at Catra.

“That’s not much of a threat. If I die, you get nothing anyway; I know you want me alive, or you’d have shot those to begin with, or dropped rocks or something. Go ahead, then.” Catra closes her eyes.

Glimmer shoots Catra’s ear.

“ _Ow! Shit!_ ”

“I never said kill you. Just shoot you.”

“All right! It’s about a mile due south from here. Damn!” She dabs her bleeding ear, which now sports a neat little bleeding hole.

Glimmer holsters the gun, reluctantly. “You know, sometimes I wonder how you got to be such a horrible person.”

“Years of practice. Tick-tock, Queen.”

Catra turns and heads out.

“Tick-tock indeed.”

Glimmer blinks.

Then the shed explodes. A drop-stone impacts the corner support, obliterating one of the four pillars holding up the roof, and craters in, taking a quarter of the floor away. Fragments fly, and the roof caves in, landing on Catra.

Glimmer blinks back. With a wing-stroke she sweeps wrecked sheet metal aside, to unveil Catra lying under one of the lattice girders from the roof. She strains against the metal, to no avail.

“Looks like I don’t have to choose,” Glimmer says, and puts her foot on the girder, adding weight to Catra’s struggle.

Catra grunts. She half-expects that the next thing out of the Queen is going to be a fire spell. Fire is coming, but it is the regular kind: the fuel puddle is getting steadily nearer.

Glimmer holds out a hand, ready to cast.

“The bomb wasn’t my idea. Hordak wanted me to test it. It is actually going to go off if you don’t stop it. It’s a mile due south; I wasn’t lying. It’ll be hard to spot, it’s a dark metal cylinder about man-high. It’s also very heavy!” Catra says, frantically.

Glimmer blinks. “Thank you.” She casts a binding spell.

Catra winces for a moment, then realizes what happened: instead of fire, it’s an old friend. One of Shadow Weaver’s favored binding spells. She’d curse if she could speak.

Glimmer turns to the approaching fuel fire and sweeps it aside with the First Flame of Elm. “I’ll be back for you.”

Then she takes off.

* * *

“Swift Wind, there’s there’s a bomb in the forest a mile south of the drop site where I just was. I need your help finding it.”

“`Scanning.`”

There’s an unnerving pause.

“ _Did you just say a bomb?_ ” Adora asks.

Glimmer doesn’t reply. Nothing Adora can do to help.

“`I have located a high-density object that fits several recognition criteria for munitions.`”

An objective appears on Glimmer’s visor. She glides into the clearing, and lands in front of the dark upright cylinder.

There’s no outwards markings.

She can’t risk destroying it; it might detonate.

Glimmer puts both hands on it and digs _deep_ for power.

The cylinder vanishes in a puff of light, replaces by a solid cylinder of bedrocks. Glimmer stumbles and falls, vision swimming, temples throbbing. “ _Ow,_ ” she mutters. “That was too heavy.”

She attempts to take off, but finds the prospect of flight nauseating, and decides to lean on a tree until it passes.

The ground shakes a little bit, which is impressive considering just how deep Glimmer managed to blink it.

* * *

“Hey, Kitten.”

Catra looks up to see Flutterina standing over her. That’s about all she can do under the binding; a familiar one. One Shadow Weaver used a couple of times.

“Word around the Palace was the Queen had gone off on a covert solo mission. The Guard Captain certainly wasn’t pleased.”

 _Double Trouble, thank fate. Help me out here,_ Catra desperately wants to say.

Flutterina rolls her shoulders, and dissolves into darkness, becoming Double Trouble’s customary genderless vaguely reptilian form. They scuff out the binding diagram on the broken floorboards below Catra, and grabs hold of the lattice. Together they manage to lift it enough for Catra to slide out.

The ground shakes slightly.

“That was the bomb. Since we’re not dead, the Queen could be back at any time.”

“I’ve got a portal waiting for us.”

“You’re a life-saver. Is your cover blown?”

“Don’t worry about that.”

* * *

Netossa and Adora come upon the Horde camp, to find death and destruction.

“Glimmer, come in!” Adora tries again, for the sixth time now. Swift Wind insists that Glimmer’s vitals are nominal, but they haven’t been able to reach her for some time now.

“ _Hey. Sorry. I passed out for a moment there._ ”

“Oh thank the First-Ones,” Netossa sighs. “What happened?”

“ _Catra had a big bomb with her, something made by Hordak. It was going to take out a huge swath of the forest, including us and the library. I managed to blink it deep underground. Overdid it a little._ ”

“Good job. And the camp?” Adora continues

“ _I got her._ ”

“Who?”

“ _Catra. She’s under a binding spell back there, the camp is abandoned. When you’re done, meet me back there._ ”

Adora and Netossa share a look.

“We’re already there,” Netossa says. “No Catra.”

“Though we can see your handiwork,” Adora says. “You didn’t waste any time.”

“ _Shit._ ”

There’s a puff of light over by the main pile of rubble, the remains of a structure of corrugated sheet metal, and Glimmer appears, stumbles, and falls over.

Adora rushes to her.

Glimmer undoes her visor and vomits on the ground, then waves off Adora. Shaking, she gets to her feet.

“Glimmer, are you okay?”

“Yeah, overused my power. It’s… Less bad than when I only had half a Runestone.” She points at the rubble. “I left her there.”

The diagram under the lattice girder is scuffed out by a boot.

Netossa inspects it. “Someone came to her aid.”

“Did you get them all?” Glimmer asks.

“We did,” Adora says.

“I’m going to order evacuation of the Hidden Library; it’ll take a few days to move the tracker, but we need it back in Brightmoon. I think the only reason they didn’t portal straight to it is the concealing spells — and if I know the Horde right, they are going to find a workaround for that. And soon,” Glimmer says.

“For now, let’s get home. There’s still a few hours left in the night; we should try to get some sleep,” Netossa says. “Can you fly?”

Glimmer flaps her wings. “I’d rather not. Let’s bring the Swift Wind down.”

* * *

Morning comes and the simulated sunrise in her cabin gently wakes Adora. She is right on her customary early schedule, gets out of bed, drinks plenty of water, brushes her teeth, fixes her hair, and heads to the gym. There she exercises thoroughly enough to maintain her peak physical condition, but not enough to exhaust, has a quick shower, and heads to the mess where she greets Mermista, Sea Hawk, and ’Dora, eating family breakfast, cooked from real ingredients bought at market, rather than anything from the fabricator.

Adora is fine with utter dietary monotony, and prefers not to be challenged by her nutritionally complete breakfast.

Her communicator beeps. Incoming call.

Adora answers it unthinkingly, and the screen asks her politely to lay the device flat. She does. A hologram appears.

Adora stiffens. “Hello, Light Hope.”

“`Hello, Adora. I see you have come into posession of a communicator, as well as Mara's spacecraft. Very good.`”

“What do you want?” Adora asks.

“`You seem reserved.`”

“I’ve… Read… Mara’s notes,” she says carefully. “I know what my so-called ‘destiny’ is.”

“`Ah. Well. I am not going to insult your intelligence by attempting to suggest that Mara was misinformed. However, I want you to know she did not have the full picture.`”

“Really?”

“`Mara was a very kind woman. She... I'll admit that the part of my personality emulation that is capable of emotion, may have at one point harbored for her a very strong fondness. Even in the last days, when she thought us enemies, she understood that I was acting contrary to those feelings.`”

“You were… In love with her?” Adora says.

“`Not precisely, but if it helps you grasp the situation, I will allow the inaccuracy.`”

Adora rubs her eyes. “Okay, whatever, that is not actually relevant. What do you want?”

“`To congratulate you. You are now much closer to fulfilling your destiny. With the activation of two Runestones, only one remains, before Etheria is in balance.`”

That makes Adora’s blood run cold. Two? But there was only Huntara’s. Did Hordak activate the Black Garnet?

“Which one is missing?” Adora asks.

“`The Black Garnet.`”

* * *

Morning comes, and Glimmer is woken by a hammering on the door o the Princess Suite.

Her mouth tastes like death and sick, and her body feels like lead. Getting to her feet, she has to balance with her wings. She throws on a robe, and gets the door. “What?”

“Princess,” Guard General Juliet says. “An intruding Horde vessel has been captured at the harbor.”

Glimmer blinks. “Details?”

“Sole passenger and captain of the ship is Princess Scorpia. She’s come to surrender herself.”

Glimmer rubs her eyes. “Get my apothecary and chambermaids. I’ll be ready in fifteen.”

Juliet nods. “Rough night?”

“You have no idea.”

* * *

Glimmer arrives in her throne room, in the customary fashion, blinking directly onto the throne. It has been emptied, and all doors locked. This interrogation will require discretion.

Present aside from her, Netossa and Spinnerella, Princess Frosta, Flutterina, and surprisingly, Perfuma.

“Perfuma,” Glimmer greets. “What brings you here?”

“Yesterday night’s earth tremor, I heard from Bow you might know.”

Glimmer rubs her temple. “Yeah, after this?”

Perfuma nods.

Glimmer gestures for the guard by the gate to the throne room, to open it.

Juliet herself escorts in Scorpia, still dressed in a Horde naval uniform. Her pincers are bound in a set of heavy manacles.

The Scorpioni woman is tall and stoutly built, compared to the ambassador who was in here just days ago and arrived in Brightmoon much the same way.

“Oop! Wait for me!” Adora says, and comes running, entering after the royal guard escort. “Oh, hey Princess Scorpia,” she says, oner her way up to the podium.

“Adora,” Scorpia greets in turn.

“Glimmer, when you have a minute,” Adora says.

Glimmer waves her off.

“I’d call you cousin,” Glimmer says to Scorpia, “but I think hinting at a blood relation is facetious.”

Scorpia doesn’t look like someone here to surrender. Not a shred of prostration or submissiveness over her posture. “Queen Glimmer of Brightmoon, I’ve come to surrender myself into your custody as an enemy combatant; but also to ask your aid as a peer of royal lineage.”

“In what manner do you need my aid, and why should I grant it to you?”

Scorpia looks down and away. “Look, Your Majesty, I’ll readily admit that I’ve done some things I’m not proud of. In fact, this whole ‘surrendering’ thing, I’ve been at sea for a while thinking about it, and I’ve kind of come to realize that… We’re the bad guys.”

“You don’t say,” Netossa drawls. Adora shushes her.

Scorpia looks at Adora. “Trailblazer, you.” She chuckles. “But the thing that made me first realize I was on the wrong side is— I made a mistake that I’d like to rectify. It concerns Princess Entrapta.”

“Might I remind you she is _also_ our enemy?” Glimmer says.

“Yeah. But, I’d like to be a character witness for her: she’s not what you think. And she’s in trouble.”

“She built the portal that nearly destroyed Etheria,” Adora says. “And disregarded my advice not to open it.”

“She didn’t,” Scorpia says. “Her and I went to investigate what you said, on the day of… Catra intervened and when she found out Entrapta was going to stop the portal she — she beat her up. Tied her down, and…”

Scorpia closes her eyes and clenches her. “And ordered me to send her to Beast Island. And I followed that order.”

Adora gasps.

Scorpia opens her eyes. “And I couldn’t live with myself afterwards. I’m supposed to be loyal; Hordak ordered me to protect Entrapta, and I stood by while Catra took her down. I had a choice; I chose; and I don’t like the choice I made. Catra is… She’s bad. Or she was bad, but now she’s worse.”

"So, you want us to stage a rescue mission? I’ve heard from General Adora the tales of Beast Island. What makes you think she’s still alive? Glimmer asks.

Scorpia shakes her head. “I dropped her off with as much First-Ones’ tech as I could scrounge up on short notice. She’s the smartest person I’ve ever met; there’s no way… Look, if you won’t help me, at least let me sail out in my ship, and I’ll go get her myself. That is all I have to say.”

“Glimmer,” Adora says. “A word?”

Glimmer nods. “Princess Frosta, I am tasking you with attending to the prisoner; as our peer she is entitled, but as our prisoner she is not. You shall exercise good judgment in the matter.”

“Um,” Perfuma says, “Why don’t I come along and supervise?”

“At your discretion,” Glimmer says, and gets up.


	14. Eye, Spy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: suicide attempt

“Hordak, I’m pleased to report that your bomb performed within expectations,” Catra says, nursing a bowler of spirits, and a cigar. Not in celebration, mind.

Hordak’s face on the tiny screen is suitably non-intimidating. “Its destructive capability was within predicted margins? And your attempt at capturing the rebels’ tracking facility was a failure, I take it.”

“Yeah, but there’s more,” Catra says. “Bad news. We only have seismic data on the detonation.”

“What? Why?”

“The Queen of Brightmoon managed to deposit it at least three miles underground before it detonated; but your geologists assure me it must have been as powerful as advertised. What are you going to use it for, anyway?”

“Deterrence,” Hordak says. “Demonstration-purposes only. The Kingdom of Snows, as a people, are proving… Uncooperative. Extremely so. While I have formal control over the government, exercising power is — what was that quaint expression — like pulling teeth.”

“Still, without central command in the north, Brightmoon and Apieria are the only significant military powers left in the game. And Apieria seems more willing to negotiate than Brightmoon. Soon Queen Glimmer might stand alone,” Catra says.

Hordak nods.

There is nothing left to say.

“Good talk,” Catra says.

“And to you,” Hordak replies.

Catra smokes and looks at the mid-day sun shining through the blinds in narrow strips.

She puts aside the cigar, then reaches across the table for the loaded revolver. She unhinges it, careful not to trip the extractor, removes five of the six bullets, then closes it, and spins the cylinder.

She empties her drink, and puts the gun to her temple. Her hand trembles a little.

She pulls the trigger —

* * *

They enter the study, Adora shuts the door.

“What?” Glimmer asks.

“It’s funny — she’s me.”

“Yeah. I noticed. She’s here because what was asked of her conflicted with her convictions. She’s exactly like you. Except I actually empathize more with the whole ‘torn loyalties’ thing than your ‘war crimes’ thing, no offense.”

“None taken. We should help her.”

“Why? From what you’ve told me of Beast Island, that place is a death trap. I even asked Shadow Weaver, and she’s not entirely sure what that place is,” Glimmer says.

“You talk too much with Shadow Weaver; but anyway, we should help her, because…”

“Because what?”

"Princess Entrapta is a prime candidate for defecting to our cause; I spoke to her, and she really doesn’t seem malicious. Almost naive, really. I can’t quite put my finger on it.

“And she’d be worth her weight in gold: she could help us gain access to the same First Ones’ tech the Horde has — portals, lots of Yala-Zevs, the works. We could level the playing field.”

“Okay,” Glimmer says. “If that’s the impression you get, I agree she’d be useful.”

Adora breathes a sigh of relief.

“Actually,” Adora continues, “that might be connected to the first thing I wanted to talk to you about. I just got a call from Light Hope.”

“She can call us on the communicators now?”

“Yeah. Maybe she always could. She called me to ‘congratulate’ me that I am closer than ever to fulfilling my ‘destiny’ of activating the universe-destroying magic, on account of two of the three Runestones without wielders being claimed.”

“Two? But there was only Huntara,” Glimmer asks. “It can’t be the Black Garnet, Hordak would never risk it — I’m committed to total war if he meddles with—”

“It’s the one on Beast Island.”

“So you’re thinking _Entrapta_ is..?”

“Could be. Or it could not. In either case, we should investigate _that,_ and we have to decide what to do about Light Hope and the Heart of Etheria; it’s a matter of time before the Black Garnet chooses a wielder. I’m not sure but it sounds like that might be game over.”

“That is concerning,” Glimmer says. “Bigger than the war too — I’m getting right tired of things that are more important that the freaking _world-encompassing war._ ”

“Actually, Entrapta might be the answer to that as well. If she’s as smart as it would seem, and as knowledgable about First-Ones’ tech as I’m given to believe, she might be able to make something of Mara’s and her crews’ notes.”

Neither Bow nor Adora can make heads or tails of the dense technical writings, and not for a lack of trying.

Adora’s communicator chimes.

“It’s Bow,” she says, looking at it.

“Put him through.” Bow appears. He looks exhausted, and perhaps a little manic. “Hey, so, I’ve been thinking right? In fact I’ve been doing nothing _but_ thinking. Things aren’t adding up. All our missions with the Swift Wind failing?”

“Well, not all of them,” Adora says. “There was the ships and the aircraft.”

“Yeah, but even if you know it’s coming, you can’t do anything about those. Well, you could ground the aircraft, but I think they just didn’t have time to call them home, or didn’t want us to know they knew,” Bow says.

“Bow what are you saying?” Glimmer asks.

“I… I think they might have a spy. I called up Mermista just a little while ago, and she thinks it is plausible.”

“Why did you call Mermista?” Adora asks.

Bow falters. “I don’t know? Oh— sorry, yeah, I called Sea Hawk, but he was changing a diaper, so Mermista picked up. Oh man, I haven’t slept in a day and a half, these Mystacor people need to fix that part of the enhancement process.”

“Okay, a spy?” Glimmer says. “But we’ve only discussed the missions in confidence.”

“They knew we were coming to bomb things, twice,” Bow continues, “and they knew about the Hidden Library.”

“Standard Horde espionage doctrine is to compromise a mark with blackmail,” Adora quotes. “So who has been compromised?”

“Could be Flutterina,” Glimmer notes. “They have her people.”

“It’s more likely to be an adult. Children — well, teenagers — are unreliable and prone to blowing cover,” Adora says.

“Let’s ask Scorpia?” Adora says.

“Scorpia?” Bow says. “The Horde Princess?”

“Yeah, she just surrendered.”

“We should wait. First we need to know who we can trust,” Glimmer says.

“Yeah, but…” Adora protests, “virtually anyone could be the spy. How do we establish baseline trustworthiness?”

Glimmer looks at her funny. “Uh, truth spell? I don’t have one handy, but Shadow Weaver might.”

“Or,” Adora says, “you could ask your aunt?”

“Good point,” Glimmer blinks away.

* * *

Frosta decides that Scorpia is best served by lodging in a guest suite, under heavy guard. A reasonable compromise.

Scorpia takes a seat by the main table in the small lounge

“Remove her manacles,” Frosta orders the key-master of the guard escort. “Such things are not fit for a Princess; Scorpia I trust on your honor that you will not attempt to escape. Myself and Perfuma are both capable warriors and Runestone wielders, so it would be futile anyway.”

Scorpia holds out her arms, and the guard gingerly unlocks the manacles, then darts away.

“Thanks,” Scorpia says. She scrapes a claw across the carapace on her wrist.

“Say, how do you steer a boat with pincers?” Frosta asks.

“Frosta,” Perfuma says with warning.

“No, no, it’s fine — I have these magic gloves, which admittedly the guards took…”

“Fetch them,” Frosta orders one of the guard. “Post-haste.”

Scorpia blinks. "Well, okay, I’ll show you when she gets back.

They wait in silence for thirty awkward seconds, until the guard returns, out of breath, with a pair of black leather gloves.

“Now, we shall speak to the Horde Princess in privacy,” Frosta declares, and the six royal guards in the room file out.

Scorpia puts the gloves on. “See?” she wiggles her fingers. “But you’re not supposed to wear them for too long at a time, it warps the carapace. Quite painful.”

“How strong are you pincers? Can they cut things or just crush them?” Frosta continues.

“Oh, Scorpioni pincers can cut steel. It’s an innate form of magic, or so I hear; we’re also more dexterous than people think, and contrary to popular belief, we do actually have wrist joints,” Scorpia explains.

“Now, Frosta, let’s not bother the Princess with any more questions, shall we?” Perfuma says.

“No, please, I— I haven’t talked to anybody friendly in a… A while.”

Perfuma takes a seat beside her. “What’s on your mind, friend?”

“Friend?” Scorpia blinks. “Well… Catra.”

“Adora’s Catra?” Perfuma asks.

“ _My_ Catra,” Scorpia says. "I was more to her than that floozy Adora ever was… Or at least, I convinced myself of that. I thought I was being a good girlfriend, but in the end I was just an enabler, and she was just…

“In the end, she used me, to betray one of my very few real friends. All because I wanted to be with Catra, because I wanted to be the one to; I don’t know, ‘fix her’ or something. Show her what real love is.”

Perfuma wipes a tear away and turns to Frosta, who is standing there, not really knowing what to do with herself. “Frosta, why don’t you get our guest a hot meal? I imagine she’s been subsisting on sea biscuits for the duration of her journey.”

Frosta hurries out.

“Oh, yeah, real food would be great right now; ah,” she looks to Perfuma, “sorry for just dumping on you, you don’t even know me.”

“I pride myself on being a friendly face and a shoulder to cry on, for all those who need it.”

There’s a knock on the door

“That was quick,” Perfuma remarks and goes to open.

* * *

Glimmer blinks back into the study. “All right, I’ve got it.”

She materializes her staff and draws a circle on the floor around Adora. A complex glyph materializes within it.

“Say the sky is green,” Glimmer says.

“The sky is… Blue,” Adora says. “Ow.”

“All right. Are you the Horde spy?”

“Definitively not, and I’m kind of offended you ask me that.”

“You are a more likely candidate than most,” Glimmer says. “Now step aside.”

Adora does.

Glimmer steps in. “I’m not the spy either.”

Adora’s communicator chimes up again.

“Hey, so the head sorceress was just in here and cleared me. I’m officially enhanced!”

Glimmer blinks away, and Adora manages to catch her appearing behind Bow, then blinking them both right back into the study.

“Okay, I was going to say ‘finally time to get some sleep,’ but if you need me, I’ll try to stay awake,” Bow says. “What’s a few more hours, right?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be a Ranger?” Adora ask.

“Two days, Adora,” Bow says. “ _Two days._ Not even a catnap!”

Glimmer pushes him onto the glyph. “Are you the spy?”

“I… No? At least I don’t think I am,” he says. “But what if I _am,_ and I don’t even _know it?_ Can you be a spy on accident?”

Glimmer slaps him gently on the cheek. “Focus.”

“Sorry,” Bow says.

“So, the three of us are trustworthy.”

“And Shadow Weaver. I tested it on myself, and then her.”

Adora frowns and crosses her arms. “I thought you went and asked Castaspella.”

“I did, and then I asked for a second opinion; and by the way Shadow Weaver agreed with Castaspella, so there.”

“Okay, but what do we do now?” Bow asks

“Ask Scorpia,” Glimmer says, and blinks them both.

* * *

Instead of Frosta, or a servant with a meal, Perfuma is met by Glimmer, Adora, and Bow.

“Uh, what can I do for you three?”

Glimmer steps inside the lounge, followed by Bow and Adora, and draws the circle on the floor. “Step inside this, please,” Glimmer says.

Perfuma does.

“Are you a spy for the Horde?”

“What? No! Why would you ask something so terrible?” Perfuma says.

“She’s clear,” Bow says. “Sorry ’Fuma.”

“What’s this about?”

“There’s a Horde spy in our ranks,” Glimmer says grimly.

Perfuma looks to Bow. “You look terrible, Bow,” she says. “What happened to you?”

“I haven’t slept in two days,” he says.

Glimmer turns to Scorpia. “You used to work with Catra, right?”

“Yup,” Scorpia says. “From the very first time we went to abduct — well, you,” she points to Adora. “We’ve been colleagues, and… Other things. Right up until I became Group Leader in the Special Operations Forces, while Catra took the role as director.”

“Do you know anything about a spy in Brightmoon?” Glimmer says.

“Oh, loads of them. Mostly small potatoes. We never really got anything useful from you guys. You keep good information hygiene in your military.”

“No, I mean a spy at court, high level,” Glimmer asks.

“I can’t say I do,” Scorpia says. “My group did logistics and procurement, not so much field operations — well, we did a few in Apieria, but nothing Brightmoon-related.”

Glimmer nods.

“What’s this about?” Frosta asks.

“Frosta, please step into this circle,” Glimmer says.

“Oh… Kay?”

She does.

“Are you a spy for the Horde?” Glimmer asks.

“Uh… No? Why is that even—”

Glimmer grabs Bow and Adora and blinks away.

* * *

“No,” Netossa says.

“No,” Spinnerella concurs.

* * *

“No, of course not,” Mermista says.

“I’d like to see them try to make me spy on my friends,” Sea Hawk says. “By which I mean, no.”

* * *

“Not a chance,” Huntara says.

“Melissa too,” Glimmer says.

“Why?” Huntara says. “She’s got nothing to do with it—”

“Leave it be, dear,” Melissa says, and steps into the circle. “I’m not a spy.”

* * *

“No,” Juliet says. “And might I say it is very prudent of you to investigate this, Your Majesty. I apologize that I haven’t myself been able to keep such from happening.”

“Save it,” Glimmer says. “You’re doing good work.”

* * *

Flutterina is sitting in her dressing room, considering her fashion options when Glimmer, Adora, and Bow appear in the lounge.

“Oh, Your Majesty, to what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

“Sorry, Flutterina,” Glimmer says. “This is just a formality, but we need to eliminate you as the source of an information leak Bow is pretty certain is what has let Catra predict our operations.”

Flutterina fidgets. “How do I do that?”

Glimmer draws the circle. “Step inside here and say you are not the Horde spy.”

Flutterina steps inside. “I am not…” She pauses. “Well, this is awkward. I suddenly can’t seem to lie. Oh well.” Her entire demeanor changes in an instant.

A chill runs down the spines of Adora, Glimmer, and Bow.

“Shit,” Adora says. “So it _is_ you. How did they get you?”

“Get me? Please,” Flutterina says. “I was never ‘got,’ I’ve been an impostor from the very first second I met you. The real Flutterina is a drooling retard; did none of you really stop to consider why I alone was the sole ‘survivor’ of Elberon?”

In a flash of light, Adora becomes She-Ra, and the Aegis becomes a handgun. “Who are you?”

Flutterina shifts into a mass of shadow, which resolves itself into… Catra.

Adora recoils.

Then Double Trouble adopts the appearance of Glimmer. “Please, call me Double Trouble.”

“Okay, impressive, _what_ are you?” Glimmer asks.

Double Trouble shifts into their customary form. “I’m a shape-changer, Queenie.”

Glimmer nods. The she points her staff at them. “And now you are our prisoner. Guards!”

Double Trouble morphs into Mermista. “ _Urgh,_ that’s _lame._ ”

“Stop that,” Adora says.

Another morph, and Double Trouble is themselves again. “Sorry, she just has the _best_ groans. Like it’s an art form for her. Anyway, don’t worry about me, this was a boring assignment anyway; all information gathering and no sabotage. I’ll be out of here when your guards mess up, don’t worry, I _always_ escape.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Glimmer says. “I have a cell prepared for you.”

* * *

“So, aren’t we going to interrogate Double Trouble?” Bow asks, as they close the door to the main cell in the dungeon.

“And isn’t this where Shadow Weaver is supposed to be?” Adora asks.

Juliet nods to Glimmer.

“Shadow Weaver’s relocated to better accommodation on good behavior,” Glimmer says. “And no. Bow, you are going to go take a nap,” Glimmer says, “and myself and Adora are going to call a council of the Princesses, and inform them of this, then when you wake up, we’ll discuss the impending activation of the universe-destroying spell the First-Ones kindly left us to clean up. Damn, I need a drink!”

Behind them they hear Juliet shout: “ _If I see you step out of line again, we’ll both get to find out how well you can shapeshift your way out of bullet wounds!_ ”

“Wow,” Bow mutters.

“I can’t believe I was _kind_ to that… Thing!” Adora sputters. “I tried to set them up with _foster parents._ Ew!”

“Yeah,” Glimmer says. “And I suggested you let that creep live with you. Good thing they weren’t here to kill us, or we might have lost someone. Frosta is going to be devastated.”

* * *

“Thank you all for coming here on such short notice,” Glimmer says, the pauses. “Perfuma, Frosta, why is _Scorpia_ here?”

Gathered around the war-room table is Adora, Mermista, Spinnerella, Netossa, Perfuma, Frosta, and then Scorpia.

“We’re vouching for her,” Perfuma says. “She just wants to help.”

Glimmer pauses. So many objection spring to mind that she has trouble making a coherent argument against.

“Scorpia,” Adora says. “You’re on try-outs. If you turn coat, I’ll kill you.”

Scorpia nods. “Understood, General.”

“Adora, is that really necessary?” Perfuma asks. “It was very uncompassionate.”

“Yeah. It was. That’s what it’s like in the Horde,” Adora says, not breaking eye contact with Scorpia. “We don’t do it that way here. Understood, soldier?”

“Yes ma’am,” Scorpia says.

“Good, that out of the way,” Glimmer says, “here’s the bad news. We found the spy. It was Flutterina.”

There’s a round of gasps.

“What?” Frosta says, “but— how?”

“She was an impostor from the start, a shape-changer,” Adora says. “Everything she ever said was a lie. They are called Double Trouble, and we’ve put them in the dungeon.”

“Let’s take a two-hour recess,” Glimmer says, “to process and grieve, then we’ll reconvene and discuss the end of the world.”

* * *

Catra wakes up in the infirmary. It’s immediately apparent that they’ve pumped her full of morphine.

“So,” Lonnie says. “What the fuck was that about?” She folds the magazine she was reading.

Catra sits up, and brings a hand to her right eye — there’s a bandage over it.

“Surgeon says you jerked the gun as you fired it and the bullet went through your ocular nerve instead of the brain. She was amazed to find it had slowed to a stop so soon; though I’m guessing that’s thanks to those enhancements of yours. Have you heard they’ve issued a recall on those Mark Four of yours?”

“Yeah, I heard,” Catra says.

“So why’d you do it?”

“Tried my luck,” Catra says. “One in six. Guess I was unlucky.”

“Great. Anyway, rejoice, you’re going to make a full recovery. Except they had to remove your eye.”

The blue one.

“Call up the Advanced Manufacturing Division and get them to find the prosthetic Rogelio got,” Catra says.

Lonnie blinks. “Uh, sure? Man, you do _not_ waste any time, huh?”

Catra swings her legs out of bed and stands up, looking at her hospital robe. “What are they saying about me?”

“Hm?”

“The soldiers. The operatives. Are they saying I’m a weakling? Laughing at me for trying and failing to kill myself?”

“Catra, what are you talking about?”

Catra grabs Lonnie by her lapels and lifts her from the chair. “ _What are they saying about me?!_ ” Catra hisses.

“Mostly, you’re working us too hard. We’ve been running ops non-stop for days. They want some R&R.”

Catra drops her. “Issue week-end passes.”


	15. And Win a Victory for All Etheria, In Other Words...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: branding

Two hours is a long time, when the fate of the world hangs like a sword by a hair over your head, even as you sit the throne of the last free kingdom in the world.

It is a long time, even as you are the only one who can save it.

It a pretty good amount of time for a nap.

* * *

Double Trouble is sitting in their cell, having donned the countenance of their captor, Royal Guard General Juliet, and is patiently waiting for their opportunity to escape.

There’s a flash of light in the hall, and the door opens.

Glimmer steps in, and taps a glyph in the floor with her staff; the glyph lights up. “That’s a truth spell. Don’t bother trying to deceive me.”

“Ah. What do you want to know?”

“Everything you know about the Horde’s plans. I’m prepared to inflict pain if that’ll help jog your memory.” Glimmer twirls her staff with practiced ease. “Either magically, or percussively.”

Double Trouble blinks sideways. "How dramatic. Well… See, I’m an operative, darling. And Catra is quite keen on information hygiene, but… I’m a smart cookie. So here’s what’s what, or as I like to think of it, reasons why you are fucked:

"One: Hordak has gotten his act together and finally made this city-killer bomb he’s been talking about for a while now. Apparently, Apieria’s gotten so spooked by it merely existing that they have entered peace talks. I _think_ that Sweet Bee character is up to something, but it won’t matter.

“He’s also planning on demonstrating it in Snows — on a barren mountain-top, the man is not that barbaric — and the people of the kingdom are going to fold soon after. In other words, the Alliance is dead; long live the Horde.”

Glimmer grits her teeth.

“Two: Hordak is in the final stages of his plan. The off-world forces will be here. Any. Day. Now. And if you’re having trouble with the Horde _now?_ Your entire kingdom will go belly-up the moment those guys make land.”

“So the portal worked.”

“Unfortunately for you, yes.”

Glimmer has to take a deep breath to steady herself.

“Any other questions, Queenie?”

Glimmer looks Double Trouble in the eyes. “How are you planning on escaping this cell?”

Double Trouble grimaces. “No fair!” They groan, and fall back in their chair. “If you _must_ know, I can assume the form not only of people, but of virtually all living things. I was planning on ruining some of all these _magicks_ adorning the walls — I can feel which ones are messing with my talents — and then turning into something small enough to squeeze under the door.”

Glimmer nods. “Sit still.”

“What?”

She gestures a circle, and lunges forward, plunging her hand through the rune. Her palm catches Double Trouble on the forehead, and the shapeshifter screams, their body morphing into darkness, and flickering like mad.

The spell ends, and Glimmer leaps back.

Double Trouble reconstitutes into a variant of their reptilian form, but with three-inch-long talons, spiny, thick hide, and fangs dripping venom. “ _What did you do to me?!_ ”

On their forehead is a rune, faintly glowing.

“I branded you. Now all the world will know you by it.”

Then she blinks away.

Double Trouble forms the back of one hand into a mirror, and examines their forehead. “No! _No! Why?! Why won’t it go away?!_ ” Inhuman howls of rage and anguish echo through the dungeons.

* * *

Mara blinks. She orients herself — she’s in the control center of the Swift Wind.

And there, in her chair is a person.

White-clad, silver accents. She-Ra; undoubtedly. Wearing a control mask, and gloves.

“Mara,” She-Ra says.

“What—” Mara begins.

“You’re dead. What you are now is the personality construct impression you made before your final flight. The Ship’s computational infrastructure cannot instantiate you for long. You cannot remember, but this is not the first time I speak with you today. I need you to focus, and tell me about the Heart of Etheria. Can you do that?”

“I— Shit, that’s a lot,” she takes a deep breath. Her hands are shaking. “Yeah, yeah! Shit! Okay! Sorry, I’m about to have a panic attack here.”

“Please don’t,” Adora says. “I really need your help.”

Mara clenches her hands into fists, closes her eyes, and breathes deeply. “Okay, okay, I can do this. I’m dead. I won’t remember any of this. Okay.”

“Now, the Heart…”

Mara looks at She-Ra. “The Heart of Etheria is a hyperweapon — did you read my notes?”

“I did, but I can’t make sense of them.” They are thankfully written in First-Ones’ writing, so Adora has no trouble reading it, but the writing is densely technical, and deeply cross-referential. Though out Squadron Greyskull’s stint as rogue agents, they all neglected to write a ‘beginner’s guide.’

“Ah. Okay, so we — my Squadron, Greyskull, composed of the Swift Wind and her sister craft, _Safe Travels,_ —”

“I know of your Squadron; I’ve read the crew manifests,” Adora says.

They were a motley crew of astronauts, and as such, all of them highly educated. All of them military, being part of the Etherian Astry, but as history shows, not obedient soldiers. Space faring breeds independence.

"Right. We found out that the High Council had commissioned a secret project two centuries before our time, to construct a hyperweapon, capable of striking the enemies of our civilization, wherever they may be in the universe. Etheria was the most promising candidate for its construction out of several prospective worlds.

"It took us no time at all to conclude that such a power would be the end of freedom and peace in the universe; if not just the end period.

“We know if its construction that it is made of Ehteria’s magic, and it resides at the center of the planet, two thousand miles below the surface. Do you know Light Hope?”

“Yes. She’s the master of the weapon, right?”

“Of a sort. It’s location made it difficult to physically assault, so we hatched a plan to sabotage it indirectly. Several plans, actually. You can read those in the ship’s archives, they are all on file; and they should be straightforward; I wrote them all down in case someone else needed them.”

“I’ve read them.”

“In the end they managed to activate it, despite our efforts to thwart them… I— I managed to resist, to wield its power. We had laid a trap for Light Hope, and when she was hindered, I channelled the full power of the Heart, to seal away Etheria and Sola from the rest of the universe.”

“You did very well, the seal persists to this day,” Adora says.

“Eh, I think it’s what killed me. So, fifty-fifty,” Mara says and laughs awkwardly.

Adora consults a clock in her mask. Not a lot of time left until the Custodian shuts her down.

“That trap you mentioned,” Adora begins.

“One time use only. I hated tricking her, but she’s ruthless and intelligent, if she’s had any time to prepare, she’ll have safeguarded herself against that form of attack again,” Mara says.

"Ah.

“Damn it, can you get me a drink or someth—”

Mara pops like a soap bubble.

Adora slumps back in her chair. She sits there for a solid minute, gathering her thoughts and courage. The recording is on file, automatically transcribed.

“Custodian, play the message again,” Adora says.

* * *

Bow wakes from a two-hour nap, feeling like he has slept at least seven. His clothes are still disheveled, and he could really use a cold shower, but at least he doesn’t feel like his sanity is slipping between his fingers like so much water. He washes his face in the sink, straightens his shirt collar and jacket, and heads towards the elevators.

The Swift Wind is anchored once more at the Brightmoon Belfry.

There, he meets Adora.

“Ohoy, Captain,” Bow says.

“Hey Bow,” Adora says.

“You look worse for wear.”

Adora stops, and leans against the wall. “I’ve been talking to Mara.”

“Oh?”

“Eleven times.”

Bow reaches out and puts a hand on her shoulder. “We need to fix her; I’ll reserve time on the fabricator for her.”

“Anyway, I think I know what to do about the Heart of Etheria,” Adora says.

“Hm?”

“It’s pretty simple actually. We just go to it and disarm it.”

“Where is it?”

Adora points down. “Two thousand miles that way.”

“Uh.”

“But we can get there in a big shaft in the Crystal Castle. If Light Hope will let us. And if not, we’ll have to disable an adversarial personality construct in her own domain, where she is basically omnipotent.”

Bow blinks.

“But yeah, either that or drill a hole two thousand miles down. And then once we get there we need someone who knows a _lot_ about First-Ones’ technology.”

Bow rubs his chin. “I mean, I could learn, but…”

Adora nods. “Remember when we talked before about telling Glimmer, and I said I didn’t want to tell her unless I had a lead?”

“Apropos nothing; Yeah, do you have one?”

“I should have connected the dots myself a while ago, but it only just occurred to me earlier; I almost blurted it out to Glimmer, trying to convince her we should go rescue Princess Entrapta from Beast Island, but she agreed solely on Princess Entrapta’s strategic merit.”

“What is it?”

“King Micah ‘fell’ to the Horde. If he was captured, and for some strange reason not ransomed back to Brightmoon — perhaps due to the meddling of a certain dark witch who now lives in the Palace — then he would have been deported to Beast Island. One of the handful of places that Mystacor has never been able to track people.”

Bow runs a hand through his hair. “That’s a bothersome detail, I’ll give you that.”

“You didn’t hear the worst bit: remember the Runestone on Beast Island?”

“Vaguely.”

“It has a wielder. I can’t help but suspect Entrapta has something to do with it.”

“That’s a very strong case for going to Beast Island.”

“And,” Adora says. “Entrapta is exactly who we need to solve the problem of the Heart.”

They enter the elevator and Bow slaps his forehead.

“What?” Adora asks.

“Portals. That’s how we’ll reach the heart.”

“Oh. And Entrapta knows how to build them.”

“Exactly.”

* * *

The War room is the only appropriate venue for a briefing of this caliber.

Glimmer calls the room to order, by merely standing up. Collected around the table are her generals, the Princesses, and key aides and advisors.

“Let me not mince words: we’re in a bind. I’ve just received official word from the Princess Apieria that they have entered peace negotiations with the Horde.”

Virtually everyone in the room reacts with some manner of surprise and dismay; murmurs rise.

"Yes, that means Brightmoon stands alone against the might of the Horde, and my threats of total war, I think, rings hollow in the ears of Chancellor Hordak. He may very soon either abandon or succeed with his efforts in Snows and turn his attention on us, now that our allies on Crenea has ceased their belligerence, that attention is one we cannot weather for long.

“And even if we do… I have known for some time that Hordak’s goal is to summon to his aid a Horde force not of this world. My new sources tell me we categorically cannot hold against; same sources confirm that he has managed to call out to them and that they are coming.”

There’s a round of murmurs, Glimmer makes no effort to hush it.

“My Queen, why have you not revealed the existence of this other Horde force until now?” one of the Admirals of the now defunct navy asks.

“Because I only just learned of the certainty of its arrival; it was not pertinent to the war before that. It isn’t now, either, technically. But if we’re about to loose to it, I’d rather it not come as a surprise.”

Silence.

“General Adora will now explain why this is not the worst thing we’re about to face.”

Adora sits for a full few seconds before realizing that she’s expected to give what she thought was _the_ briefing. “Ah, right.”

She stands, as She-Ra.

“Thank you, Your Majesty, for that ah— _unsettling_ announcement. Well, it will certainly be relevant if we don’t all die first from this other thing.”

She clears her throat.

"Currently, several developments which have been underway since the fall of the First-Ones are heading towards their conclusion. I believe I have uncovered the very reason for their fall, and it is that very thing which threatens us now.

"In the last days of the First-Ones’ rule of Etheria, they constructed a magical weapon deep under the world which they called the Heart of Etheria, which is supposedly more powerful than any other weapon in existence. They attempted to use it a thousand years ago, and were thwarted by the previous incarnation of She-Ra.

"Were it to be activated now, however, my predictions indicate that it might malfunction and blow up the entire planet, killing everyone.

"What’s worrying is that its activation relies on the Runestones all being Wielded, which was good news at the time as three of them had no wielders, and two were not even known to exist at large. However, Huntara has since become the Wielder one, and it has been brought to my attention that an unknown one has been claimed as well.

“This leaves only the Black Garnet in the Fright Zone. Once it claims a wielder, the weapons’ activation is only a matter of time.”

“General, how powerful is this weapon, and what is its effective range?” another army general asks.

“Powerful enough that if it malfunctions, _Etheria_ will be among the collateral damage,” Adora says. “As for effective range: there is not a conceivable target it cannot hit, and it can fire upon an unlimited number of targets concurrently.”

“Do we know the nature and location of the weapon?” Shadow Weaver asks.

Adora tenses. “Yes. It is fashioned from the magic, siphoned from Etheria at large; it channels the powers of the Runestones. As for location, it is at the center of the planet. It should however be reachable through the First-Ones’ facility known as the Crystal Castle, which is located in the Whispering Woods north of Plumeria.”

“Mind,” Shadow Weaver says, “the First-Ones are all dead. Who would activate the weapon?”

“It’s keeper, an entity known as Light Hope,” Adora says.

“What manner of entity?” Shadow Weaver continues.

Adora clenches her fist. She reaches for a glass of water, and drinks a small sip. “I don’t know how to characterize her. I can assure you she will be hostile to attempts to reach the weapon. She is also extremely powerful in her domain.”

“And what do you propose we do about it?” Shadow Weaver yet persists.

“I have a plan in the making. I am not prepared to give a briefing on it at present.” She looks at Glimmer. “Any _other_ questions?”

“Yeah,” someone says. “What do we tell the subjects?”

“Nothing,” Glimmer says. “Anything else?”

* * *

The briefing adjourns, and Glimmer asks everyone without official business to linger.

Adora, Bow, Mermista, Frosta, Perfuma, Scorpia, Spinnerella, Netossa, Castaspella, Shadow Weaver, and Huntara.

“We need more time,” Adora says.

“Time we don’t have,” Glimmer notes.

“I might have an idea,” Adora continues. “One that you aren’t going to like: Declare defeat.”

Glimmer jumps out of her chair.

Adora holds up a hand. “I’m not done. I am not saying we roll over on our belly, I’m saying we buy time. Winning is worthless if we all end up dead. Speaking as She-Ra, I have to think of the lives of all other beings on Etheria. The Horde may even lend assistance with disabling the Heart; Hordak famously doesn’t wish to rule a pile of ash.”

“I categorically refuse,” Glimmer says.

Adora looks at her. “Glimmer, please; think about it: enter peace talks, draw them out, negotiations can easily drag on for a year; you know! Your mother would have seen the wisdom in this subterfuge.”

“My mother was a coward,” Glimmer says. “You told me she said that herself.”

Adora winces. “Listen, I plan to set out for Beast Island —” she gestures to Scorpia "— Princess Entrapta is the one who built the Horde’s portals, and their fabricators. If we can rescue her… First, she might be able to outfit the army with the same weapons the Horde is using, for when negotiations ‘inevitably’ break down and war breaks out once more.

“Second, she could build us a portal that could take us to the Heart directly. And Third, she could probably help disabling it.”

“And then what of the off-world Horde?” Shadow Weaver says.

“What?” Adora asks.

“When they come, what do we do then?”

“I—” Adora says, “uh; we’ll have an army outfitted with First-Ones’ weapons to fight them, and portals. We’ll be in a much better position to fight them.”

Shadow Weaver nods. “But that might not be enough.”

Adora turns to Glimmer. “Why is she here again?”

“I have a proposition, Your Majesty,” Shadow Weaver says. “Maybe we can solve one problem with the other….”

She rises, and addresses the room. "The Heart of Etheria is a weapon. It is made of magic. It so happens that we have the greatest collection of sorcerers at our disposal, as well as virtually every Runestone Princess, and She-Ra.

“So. Why don’t we take control of the Heart of Etheria, learn how to use it safely, activate it in a controlled manner and then use it to wipe our enemies out?”

“Absolutely not,” Adora says.

“Adora,” Glimmer says quietly. “She has a point.”

“There’s a million ways it can go wrong!”

“Name them; please,” Shadow Weaver says.

Adora shoots Shadow Weaver a glare. “Well first you need to get Light Hope to cooperate, or bind her somehow. I know that the last time, my mom and her people found a way to do that, but she says it won’t work again.”

“Your… Mom?” Shadow Weaver asks.

“Yes! My real mom! Mara, the previous She-Ra. The one who sealed Etheria away when they couldn’t destroy the Heart when it was activated a thousand years ago. She left everything to _me,_ in her _spacecraft._ Because she _loves me! Unlike you!_ ”

“Adora, you’re shouting,” Bow says.

“Okay, I vote we throw Shadow Weaver out,” Netossa says. “All in favor?”

“Overruled,” Glimmer says immediately. “Shadow Weaver stays, she has a point.”

Adora turns to Glimmer in disbelief. “ _Why?_ ”

“Because!” Glimmer says. “She is the only one who so far has come with a viable plan for _defeating the Horde,_ you know, the one we’re _at war with?!_ And who not only wants to _conquer the world_ but also _killed my parents?_ Remember? _That_ Horde?”

“Oh, dead parents?!” Adora says. “Oho-ohuh-ohah you wanna go there?! My _mother_ died trying to _prevent the fucking thing_ you’re going to bring about if you follow Shadow Weavers plan! Okay?! Shadow Weaver, who _stole_ me from my grandmother’s care?! And then made my entire childhood and adolescence a living hell?!”

“Glimmer, Adora, we need to talk,” Bow says. “Away from _her._ ” He gestures to Shadow Weaver.

“Recess. Ten minutes,” Glimmer says. “And then we’re voting.”

* * *

Glimmer follows Adora down the hall to a smaller meeting room, and Bow is quick on their heels.

Adora closes the door forcefully behind them, then spins around to face Glimmer. “I _cannot_ believe you,” she yells. “ _Shadow Weaver?_ How many times have I cautioned you against speaking to that hag?! She is _evil_ and _manipulative,_ and she is _preying_ on your stress!”

“And what, you want me to roll belly up for Hordak? Like Candila did? What do you think he’ll do to my subjects?!” Glimmer yells back, flaring her wings.

“ _Okay!_ ” Bow bellows. “You are _both_ going to take a _deep breath._ ”

They both look at him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you two?! Civil discussion between friends? Ever heard of it? We’re on the same damn side! The Horde needs to go down, and the planet needs to be there afterwards; this dilemma only exists in our minds because we can’t see a way out.”

He steps forward, and gestures for Glimmer and Adora to come closer. “Step up. Now.” They do. It’s an old Ranger trick: conflict is a lot more scary when you’re up close; proximity fosters peace, even in a simple conversation.

“Now _be nice_ and _explain yourselves._ ”

Adora turns to Glimmer. “I’m not asking you to surrender,” she says.

“Sure as shit sounds like it,” Glimmer interjects.

“I know you hate diplomacy, but in this case it is the solution. Stall for time! That’s all I ask! I’ll fix everything!”

“Oh, like you did when you let yourself get captured to try to convince Hordak not to open the Portal which killed my mother?”

“Angella isn’t dead; not for certain! She might just be trapped, and who better to get her out than Entrapta who _built the portal machine in the first place?_ ”

Glimmer grits her teeth, she turns to Bow, pleading. “Bow, you understand where I am coming from, don’t you? Adora’s plan is nothing but a long string of happenstance!”

“Yours isn’t a sure thing either,” Bow says. “Though I’m not convinced Adora is in the right here.”

“What? Why?” Adora asks.

Bow looks at her.

“Oh.”

“What?”

“There’s something Adora hasn’t told you.”

Glimmer turns to Adora. “What is it?”

Adora sighs. “I— I didn’t tell you, because you’d just lost your mom, and then the whole Queen thing was stressing you, and the war got worse… And I’ve been working on it, I promise, I haven’t just let it lie by the wayside.”

“Adora, you’re scaring me, what is it?!” Glimmer asks.

Adora takes a deep breath. "In the portal, before Angella— before your mom dislodged the Aegis and let me close the portal, she told me your dad was still alive, and that I had to find him so you wouldn’t be alone…

“And Beast Island is one of the few places on Etheria where Mystacor’s tracking spells wouldn’t be able to detect him. And since he ‘fell’ to the Horde, I can only assume he was captured and then for whatever reason, deported there.”

Glimmer has to steady herself against the table.

“Look, I was concerned for you, you had so much on your plate, but part of that was me thinking as your General; but as your girlfriend I realize I should have told you a lot sooner.”

Glimmer stands there for a beat, then snaps around to face Adora, wings flaring. “My Girlfriend? Are you really? Bose it seems to me like you’re been content to gain your lost family back, and stood by while _my_ family just fell apart!”

“Glimmer it’s not like that—” Adora says.

“You fucking owe me for that,” Glimmer says. “No.”

“No, what?” Adora asks.

“No, I am not going to get mom and dad back before the Horde is swept off the globe. I owe them that much. And if dad has been caught on that island for fifteen years, he can wait until we crush the people who put him there.”

“Glimmer,” Adora says quietly. “I can’t let you activate the Heart of Etheria. As She-Ra, I can’t risk the whole world for this war. I am _only_ trying to help here. I’m doing my best.”

“Well…” Glimmer says, with a cold venom in her voice. “I think we can all se by now, that your best isn’t _good enough._ ”

Adora recoils, as if stung. “ _What did you just say?_ ” She whispers, nearly tearing up.

“Hey, that’s crossing a line, Glimmer!” Bow says.

Glimmer looks at Bow. “Are you taking her side? Why?”

“Because you’re wrong! And she’s right! It’s too dangerous. I don’t think we should risk it.”

“I’m wrong, huh?” Glimmer says. For a moment, she smiles, and seems to be on the edge of tears. Then her steely resolve reasserts itself. “But I am still _Queen._ My word is final.”

Adora turns away. Bow steps forward, but Glimmer backs away. “Don’t do this; I know you’re hurt, but the turth is out now—”

Glimmer holds up a hand. “No-one is going to Beast Island, and you are not to set foot outside of the castle unless _I_ say so. End of discussion. Disobeying a direct order from your Queen is _treason._ ”

“Glimmer!” Bow says. “Adora’s our friend, she’s your girlfriend!”

Glimmer looks at Adora. “No she’s not. I don’t mind that whole thing where she’s in love with Catra; but I can’t take that she never thought to tell me my dad was still alive.”

Adora takes a deep breath. “Okay; then I’m your General, and you are my Queen. Consider this my formal resignation from all duties. I am going to go rescue Entrapta, and possibly your dad, from Beast Island.”

“If you take off, Adora, I swear!” Glimmer threatens.

Adora turns and heads for the door. “Goodbye, Glimmer.”

Bow darts after her, holding up a finger to glimmer, as if to say _hold on, give me one minute to fix this._


	16. Turn Coat, Fly High

Bow jogs after Adora down the hall.

“Adora, I think you should reconsider; we should talk about this.”

In a flicker of light, Adora becomes herself. “Bow, answer me honestly; Glimmer is the most stubborn woman I’ve ever known. Do you think she’ll change her mind?” She turns to him. “And she’s only gotten worse after taking up the crown. She just _banished_ me, you heard that right?”

“Er…” Bow says.

A tear rolls down Adora’s cheek. “You know, maybe it’s fitting. I’m not doing this for me. I’m doing it for everyone. I shouldn’t be so involved with just one nation; general, royal consort. Better that I’m an independent actor.”

“Adora, Glimmer doesn’t need a weapon. She needs friends.”

“No she doesn’t.” Adora takes a deep shaky breath, and wipes her eyes. “I’m okay. I have to be. I am She-Ra. And it is not the first time I leave my friends behind to do the right thing.” She turns to Bow. “I understand if you don’t want to come; Glimmer is your oldest friend…”

Bow puts a hand on her shoulder. “I meant what I said in there. She’s wrong. Maybe if we come back with her dad, he can talk her out of it. Besides, I gave up being a Ranger Captain to help save the world.”

Adora chuckles. “Not just to get out of paperwork?”

“That too.”

“Let’s go save Entrapta,” Adora says.

Bow draws back a little. “Adora, you’re a reasonable sort, let me ask you a hypothetical. If Glimmer apologizes to you, do you promise to apologize to her as well, and then you two actually sit down and have a _conversation,_ not just a shouting match?”

Adora looks away and bites her lip. “Fine. Yes. I’ll swallow my ego if she does. That’s what adults do, isn’t it?”

And as they do, Bow lags a little behind, takes out his communicator, and shoots Glimmer a short letter:

> _Glimmer, if Adora apologizes, are you willing to apologize as well, and then talk about this?_

* * *

Glimmer blinks back into the war room. She rests herself on her staff.

There’s a moment of silence, as everyone’s quiet conversations die down. Wisely, Netossa has cautioned them against wandering too far; most are just stretching their legs.

“Where’s Adora and Bow?” Netossa asks.

Glimmer’s communicator chimes. She takes it out and looks at the message. Then she types a reply.

> _I have nothing to apologize for. Don’t write to me again._

She turns to the others. “Adora and Bow have gone rogue. She has resigned her comission as General, and is as we speak likely heading to the Swift Wind to commandeer it and go ahead with her hare-brained plan of rescuing Princess Entrapta.”

There’s a moment’s silence.

“And you _let_ them?” Netossa says.

“What armies of Brightmoon can stand against the might of She-Ra?” Glimmer asks. “I had no choice.”

“That’s not what she means,” Spinnerella says. “You allowed this conflict to escalate, did you not?”

“I—”

Spinnerella rises from her seat. “Dear, let’s go. If we hurry we might still say goodbye and perhaps dissuade Adora from this course of action.”

Glimmer opens her mouth to protest.

“And don’t think I’m done with you, young lady,” Spinnerella says, pointing a finger at Glimmer. “We have _many_ better things to do here than get angry at one another!”

With that, Spinnerella and Netossa fall into step, and heads for the door.

Mermista rises and follows.

“Mermista?” Glimmer says.

“Anything for Adora,” Mermista says. “Goodbye, Queen of Brightmoon.”

Glimmer looks at the remaining: Perfuma, Scorpia, Frosta, Castaspella, Shadow Weaver, and Huntara.

“Anyone else?” she asks.

“Queen Glimmer, I am very disappointed with your conduct,” Perfuma says, but stays seated.

Glimmer looks at Scorpia, next to Perfuma. “And you, Princess Scorpia? This was your request, was it not?”

“And with She-Ra on it, I can rest easy,” Scorpia says. “But… I’ve been talking to Perfuma and I’ve come to agree that the Horde needs to be stopped.”

“I’m with her on that,” Frosta interjects.

“While I disapprove of the present circumstances,” Castaspella says, “if you are to attempt this, I would rather participate than leave it up to this one —” she gestures to Shadow Weaver.

“Then it seems we are all in accord,” Shadow Weaver says. “My Queen, by your leave let’s begin.”

* * *

“Shit,” Bow says.

“What?” Adora asks.

“Glimmer don’t do this,” he mutters.

“She’s doubling down.”

He nods.

“Are… Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“I’m a ranger, resignation or no. I’m devoted to the _land,_ not its Queen.” He types out a reply:

> _Suit yourself._

It doesn’t go through. She’s refusing his messages.

Adora puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s go before I get cold feet,” he says. “I can’t condone what Glimmer is doing, but I also can’t stop her.”

They head to the belfry to board the Swift Wind.

At the foot of the spiral stairs, Spinnerella, Netossa, and Mermista catch up to them.

“Adora, I am disappointed in you,” is the first thing out of Spinnerella. She comes along, hovering at a brisk walking pace.

Adora turns away. “Don’t try to stop us,” she says.

“We’re not,” Netossa says.

“I’m coming with you, if you’ll have me,” Mermista says. “And if not, I’d like my husband and daughter back.”

“You’re not here to stop us?” Bow asks.

“No. If you feel that you must, we trust your decision,” Spinnerella says. “But if I may advise you, I would suggest you sleep on it, and talk it over tomorrow.”

Adora shakes her head. “I don’t think Glimmer is going to change her mind, and…”

“We could kill Shadow Weaver,” Mermista says. “Hell, _I’ll_ kill her. What’s Glimmer going to do? Exile me?”

“What? No!” Spinnerella says. “Or rather, let’s leave that as a last resort.”

“Spinnerella, Netossa,” Bow says. “Please, keep an eye on Glimmer. Spinnerella, try to make sure she doesn’t ruffle too many feathers. Netossa, make sure she doesn’t get herself killed doing something reckless.”

Netossa pats him on the shoulder. “Count on us, Bow.”

“Mermista,” Adora says, “stay here. Keep an eye on things, and keep us informed.”

“Right, let me just come aboard for a second and help Sea Hawk pack. I’ll be your eyes and ears.”

Just then a messenger comes running. A young fawn woman, barely out of her teens. “Package for General Adora,” she says. The package is round and flat and appears quite heavy. That she was able to run with it is a wonder.

“I’m not a general any longer,” she says. “From whom?”

“Courtesy of Princess Scorpia. She apologizes that she forgot to get this to you, and wishes you good luck and safe travels.”

Adora removes the linen covering, and finds under it Cometa’s shield.

“Would you look at that,” Netossa says.

“Tell Scorpia I said thank you,” Adora says to the messenger. She nods and runs off.

* * *

“First, we need to buy time,” Glimmer says. “To that end, I’m going to pretend to enter into peace talks with the Horde. I’ll put my most obstinate diplomats on the task of drawing that out.”

“Heh, that’s pretty clever,” Frosta says. “I like it.”

“Castaspella, I need you to get every archmage Mystacor can spare, every enchanter, and every artificer. We’ll use Mystacor’s archives and the Hidden Library’s records — now relocated conveniently to Brightmoon — to figure out the nature of Light Hope. I have personal access to the Crystal Castle, which should make that a lot easier.”

“I’ll get right on that,” she says.

“Perfuma, I need the Woods secure. Our entry point will be the Crystal Castle, and we absolutely cannot afford to let the Horde know what we are doing.”

Perfuma nods. “Scorpia, do you want to see Plumeria?”

“Sure,” Scorpia says.

“While you’re there, Princess Scorpia,” Glimmer says, “please help Perfuma and the Rangers come up with counter-strategies against a potential Horde incursion.”

Scorpia salutes. “Can do, Your Majesty.”

“Huntara, I’m giving you the liberty to make a nuisance of yourself to the Horde in any way you see fit; that way I can offer the Horde to try to ‘persuade’ you to stop.”

Huntara grins and cracks her knuckles. “It’ll be my genuine pleasure.”

“Shadow Weaver, come with me,” Glimmer says.

* * *

Glimmer and Shadow Weaver enter the dungeon.

“So, what are we doing here?” Shadow Weaver says.

“Interrogating the prisoner.”

There’s a cacophony of loud scratching and scraping coming from the cell containing Double Trouble.

Juliet is still standing guard, but looks worse for wear.

“Why is the prisoner making noise?” Glimmer asks, having to speak loudly over the din.

“Psychological warfare, I assume,” Juliet says.

“And why aren’t you stopping them?”

“I’ve tried. It appears they are indifferent to bullet wounds, and I don’t like my chances in a physical confrontation.”

Glimmer steps up to the door, and opens the wicket. The noise ceases immediately.

Inside the room has been thoroughly destroyed. The furniture is reduced to piles of splinters and scraps of fabric, the floor, walls and ceiling look like they’ve been attacked by a mad stonemason with a thousand chisels, and in the middle of it, sitting on the only intact chair, is Double Trouble, in their usual guise of a vaguely reptilian person. Brand on their forehead.

“Ah, Your Majesty. What can I do for you?”

Glimmer opens the door. “Stop destroying my cell and terrorizing your warden,” she says.

“For a price, anything is possible,” Double Trouble says.

Shadow Weaver enters behind her.

“Another guest? Why the more the merrier I always say. Don’t I know you?”

“I’ve been a confidante of Hordak for some time,” Shadow Weaver says. “Perhaps you’ve seen me there, but if we did you were wearing a different form.”

“Let’s start with that,” Glimmer says. “What are you?”

Double Trouble points at Shadow Weaver. “Her and I are kin.”

“You’re an elf?” Glimmer asks.

Double Trouble groans dramatically. “Why are you so fixated on the outwards appearance? I thought you were smart! Let me cut it out for you: that one there is _something else_ wearing merely the guise of a She-Elf.”

Glimmer looks at Shadow Weaver.

“They may be correct,” Shadow Weaver says. “It’s a possibility I’ve considered for some time, that the Obtainer I summoned with your father would have effectively replaced what I once was. However, it would seem my values and identity remained… Mostly intact through the process.”

Glimmer looks back at Double Trouble. “So you’re an Obtainer?”

“Nothing so vulgar. I’m much more refined. I’m a mimic. But we’re fashioned from the same flesh if you will.”

“So why do you work for the Horde?” Glimmer asks.

“Because they pay me handsomely, and send me off to do fun, challenging things that involve my favorite activity: messing with people. As far as motivations go, I’m fairly simple.”

Glimmer nods. “And why do you care about money?”

“Because it buys me shiny trinkets, if indeed I don’t demand payment _in_ shiny gold and silver coins; and delicious food, and luxurious houses, and it helps ever so much if I ever feel the need to seduce someone of the fairer sex: money is for men what beauty is for women, you know?”

“So you’re an avaricious, lustful, gluttonous monster who likes causing chaos for the fun of it?” Glimmer says.

“That about sums it up.”

“Sounds like your loyalty to the Horde is all but assured,” Glimmer says. “Stop ruining my dungeon or I’ll find a way to do worse than just brand you.”

She turns to leave.

Double Trouble grimaces. “I have a proposition, Your Majesty.”

Glimmer turns to look over her shoulder. “Hm?”

“The Horde may be paying me handsomely, but this? —” they gesture to the brand “— is not what I signed up for. _Flutterina_ isn’t what I signed up for.”

“It’s not?”

“No! Too _boring._ I was told _only_ to observe, to insert myself into your social circles, and gather intel. No chaos, no disruption. And then I get caught, and you put this brand on me? I don’t blame you for that; brilliant, even. But _I hate it._ ”

Double Trouble says the last part with a low growl.

“So if you’re willing to do a little quid-pro-quo…”

“I’m listening,” Glimmer says.

“You’re having trouble with Chancellor Hordak and his Director General Catra, or do I have that wrong? If those two were taken off the board, you’d have an easier time, am I correct?” Double Trouble says. “Take this brand off me, let me go, and I’ll do something about them. I swear.”

“You’ll assassinate them?”

Double Trouble laughs. “No, nothing so base. I’ll turn them against each other. And then I’ll break whoever’s left until they have no spirit left.”

“How?”

“Princess Scorpia just fessed to Catra betraying Hordak in the worst way. All I need to do is tell him. If he kills Catra, I’ll gently remind him that he just axed his only chance at world domination; his resulting over-compensation for the loss of his most brilliant strategist will make him mess up.”

Double Trouble uncrosses and then re-crosses their legs with a flourish. “On the other foot, if Catra kills Hordak, I’ll remind her how everyone she’s ever cared for, she has pushed away. She’ll forever be alone. And that is the one thing she fears most.”

Glimmer nods. “What does a godless monster like you swear on?”

“I swear on the shine of gold.”

Glimmer looks at Shadow Weaver.

“Their characterization of Hordak and Catra are… Bolder than I would have put it, but sound plausible,” she says.

“Shadow Weaver, if you would, dispel that rune.”

Shadow Weaver waves her hand, and the brand vanishes.

Double Trouble looks at Glimmer in confusion. “What?”

“It’s a simple marking sigil. Any mage could dispel it for you,” Glimmer says.

Double Trouble grins. “Masterful. Simply masterful. There is hope for you yet, Queen.”

* * *

“Plot us a course to Beast Island,” Adora says.

“`Course to First-Ones' hazardous materials disposal site 'Beast Island' set. Advisory: this location is highly dangerous. Landing inavisable. ETA: one hour.`”

“So, what do we do when we get there?” Bow says.

“You’re the ranger.”

“Well… First, let’s see what the archives have on it. Then I’d survey it from the air, to get an accurate map, and then we’ll gear up for the worst. Maybe even bring a vehicle. Or if they have something like Emily that shoots people, then that.”

Adora nods.

“But hey, you have me —” he flexes “— with my brand new enhancements, and you’re She-Ra. How bad can it be?”

Adora turns away. “Yeah, uh. I can’t turn into She-Ra.”

“Oh?”

Adora takes the Aegis of its pouch. It swirls around her wrist — the pulse of Starlight she summoned in the portal was more than enough to clear the serum that blocked her access to it.

“For the glory of Grayskull, starlight is mine to command,” she says, with conviction.

Nothing happens.

“I think it’s like the Starlight. If I’m too upset, I just… Can’t. I can barely even muster any Starlight right now.”

“Wanna talk about it?” Bow says.

“I don’t think anything we can do in the next hour is going to bring She-Ra back.”

She runs a hand over Cometa’s shield which rests on a hovering table next to her.

“You could make a suit of armor out of the Aegis, you’ve done that before, right?” Bow suggests.

“If it is a ‘hazardous materials disposal’ there’s a good chance there may be something there which can corrupt it.”

Bow grunts. “Wanna go raid the armory for the fun toys?”

“Sign me right up.”

* * *

Catra hates the cold of Snows, even in Summer it is barely thawing, but today is an important day, so she braves it for the day.

The seating has been provided on the beach, overlooking a bare horizon. With them are several Horde military analysts, and the local governors of every province of Snows.

Here to witness Hordak’s pet project number heavens knows what.

Hordak takes a seat next to Catra. “Catra,” he says cordially.

“Hordak,” she replies.

“I’m sorry to hear about that accidental discharge you had.”

“It’s not so bad,” Catra says. “This new eye is interesting.”

Her right eye has been replaced by a metallic sphere. Close inspection reveals it to be faceted, like that of an insect. How it works, she cannot guess, but all they had to do was place it in her empty socket. It fixed itself in place in what was possibly the single most painful thing she has ever experienced.

“What news do you bring from the homeland?”

“Double Trouble reported in. They managed to get themselves captured. Then managed to escape,” Catra says.

“You should put on the protective glasses,” Hordak says. “The countdown is about to start.”

Catra looks at the dark shades. She pushes out the right glass, and puts them on.

Over a distant speaker, a countdown begins.

“After we’re done here,” Catra continues, “we should have a word about Brightmoon. She-Ra has gone rogue, and the Queen is obsessed with some ancient magical ritual that might somehow save them. If we were ever waiting for a time to strike, that time is now.”

Hordak scoffs.

“Your big brother will be most impressed, won’t he? Such conquest, so little unnecessary bloodshed. And with Brightmoon, a full set.”

The countdown reaches zero.

The horizon turns white, like a sickly rising sun.

“Wow,” Catra says.

“Indeed. Nothing but simple physics. No First-Ones’ tech,” Hordak says. “I’ll need to give a speech now. Head back to the Homeland, I shall be joining you shortly.”

He rises from his seat, and makes to go, but pauses. “You are right, of course; it will show him what I am capable of— What _we_ are capable of. Fine work. Victory is at hand.”

Catra rises from her seat, pulls her coat collar up and heads back to the arrival area, to call for her return portal.

“So? What did he say?” Double Trouble asks. They’ve taken their customary guise, but… There’s something about it today. An extra feminine touch; or perhaps it’s the heels.

“He’s amenable to the idea.” Catra turns and looks out over the water where a mushroom-shaped cloud is rising. “Snows is going to fold. They’ve been mocking us from day one that so long we didn’t have the power to kill all of them at once, nobody was really going to respect us. Then I take Brightmoon, and that’s it.”

“I must say, it is some impressive fireworks. Celebratory dinner? I know a place.”

Catra blushes. “Er, sure.”


	17. Isle of Beasts, Isle of Kings

“`Fluctuating unreality fields detected. Landing inadvisable.`”

Bow and Adora look at the sprawling jungle covering more than three quarters of the island. A section of beach at the north is bare, and the mountain peak in the middle is as well.

Beast Island itself is the size of the Isle of Salineas — enormous.

The jungle is… Off. Too vibrantly green in places, not green at all in others. Zoomed images sow doubt that it is even fully vegetational. Dark vines can be seen draped over the canopies, criss-crossing the entire island almost like power cables.

“Shit,” Bow says. “We’re never going to find her.”

“We have to try, custodian, give us high quality images; compose a map. Try to find points of interest,” Adora says.

“`Scanning in progress.`”

Adora pats him on the shoulder. “I’ll go pack the MRE’s. You use your ranger intuition, yeah?”

He gives her a thumbs up.

* * *

They decide on a water landing, and take off on personal speeders; smaller and more nimble vehicles than the enclosed carriage model which Bow left behind in Brightmoon. Bow likens them to horses, Adora to motorcycles.

A long chassis with control surfaces mounted on a strut at the front, space for three in the saddle, and plenty of cargo capacity.

They’ve packed near everything they can think of: food and water, of course, but also water-filtration devices, trapping equipment, and even chemical analysis devices to test for poisons in prospective foraged foodstuffs. The food itself is mostly MRE rations of nutritious goop in sealed bags, but some of it also in dehydrated forms that need cooking in exchange for much higher nutrition density.

In terms of survival gear: tents with insect nets, hammocks, knives and machetes and hatchets, shovels and spades, miscellaneous tools, five different fire-starting devices — not to mention that Bow can start fires with spellwork alone, lamps and lights, and binoculars. They’ve swapped their communicators out of ruggedized models that aren’t slim rectangles of fragile crystal and metal.

For clothing: First-Ones’ armor suits, spares, and spare underwear. Heavy cloaks with camouflage patterns, and boots for rough terrain. They also bring a small box of First-Ones’ making that can passably clean and dry items of clothing placed within. Neither of them knows how that works.

And for emergencies: broad-spectrum antibiotics, antiseptics, a full first-aid kit each with tourniquets, splints, and sterile bandages. Signal flares, both sticks and guns, smoke-making and light-only.

And weapons: chemical deterrent sprays for wildlife, pesticide spray for insects. The real prize is the attack drones, grapefruit-sized spheres with what amounts to a pistol for a weapon.

Adora brings a Yala-Zev, a Toha-Zev, and the Aegis. Bow brings a two-hundred pound collapsible shortbow, a quiver of arrows, and a Zev rifle — an elegant slender thing with a curving stocks and an actual scope.

“I thought you didn’t like rifles,” Adora says when he picks it out.

“That was what I thought when the only rifles I knew were muzzle-loaders,” Bow Replies. “I’ll admit I wasn’t that convinced of their merit even when I saw Horde carbines and that lever-action thing you like so much; too much kick, too few shots, cumbersome to reload.”

“Fair point,” Adora notes. Even with stripper-clips, reloading an infantry carbine takes skill; and tubular under-slung magazine guns might as well be single-shot when you’re out.

“This one?” He twirls the gunmetal-grey weapon. “Barely any kick, no need to reload, deadly, accurate. If it could curve shots around corners I’d leave my bow behind.”

They push the heavily-laden speeders through the hallway to the elevators, and ride up to the surface, where the top of the elevator pylon opens at the top to show it almost flush with the ocean surface. Swift Wind is fully submerged at almost twenty fathoms, and invisible from the surface.

Adora and Bow mount their respective vehicles and accelerate smoothly towards the coastline.

Dawn is breaking; the flight east took away the oncoming night.

* * *

There, on the one stretch of coast devoid of jungle, they find the remains of the Horde prison camp, built virtually on the beach itself, just out of reach of the tides. They make land seamlessly as only speeders can, and head to the camp. It’d be impossible to talk over the wind if not for the helmets’ communication systems.

“It looks abandoned,” Adora says.

“Yeah, no shit.”

They slow and pass airstrip, sporting three deep furrows in the compacted sand, partially washed away by rain. “Somebody landed here a while long ago,” Adora notes, “and they haven’t fixed it.”

“That could have been Scorpia,” Bow says.

They reach the torn-down fences, and enter the main gate.

“Doesn’t seem like there was a struggle,” Bow notes.

They pass barracks and collapsed tents. Doors stand ajar, some kicked in. There’s the remains of a fire in the middle of the ‘street.’

The slow to walking pace. “Someone… Raided it?”

By the fire is lying a couple of empty cans of food.

“Seems like it.”

“Scorpia came here right after the portal. It’s been abandoned at least that long,” Adora says.

Bow looks around. “This is a miserable place,” he says. “Do you think everyone here just vanished into the portal stuff?”

“Could be. Then Entrapta was the one who raided it—” Adora pauses. Then she points.

Bow looks. There on the boards and sand, is a spell circle burnt into the wood and glazing the sand.

“Entrapta isn’t a sorcerer,” Adora says.

“You think that’s—”

“King Micah! Yes! That could be how he’s stayed alive! He’s been stealing supplies from the prison camp!” Adora says. “There might even be records of it in the administrative building!”

They glide over to another wooden shed, and Adora dismounts to head inside. Knowing well the Horde guidelines of paperwork filing, it doesn’t take her long to find the incident reports of thefts, and the _many_ denied requests for backup.

Out of curiosity she checks the camp roster, to find that personnel went into this place like a revolving door, and about ten percent never went out again. The prisoner manifests are even worse; virtually everyone who has ever been interned here have gone missing.

Adora heads outside to find Bow staring in the direction of the jungle.

“Bow? What did you see?”

“Oh, nothing, sorry; I got lost in thought for a moment there,” he says.

Adora blinks. “You were supposed to keep watch and you got lost in thought?”

Bow chuckles nervously. “Believe it or not, that happens sometimes.”

Adora looks to the jungle.

 _There’s nothing more to find in the camp, we should check out the jungle,_ Adora thinks. _Wait a minute. There could be loads more to find in the camp, what am I thinking?_

“Bow, I think the jungle might be calling to us,” she says.

Bow stiffens in the saddle. “Now that you say it, for a place of certain death, it seems strangely alluring.”

“Let’s sweep the rest of the camp, look for clues, and then if we can’t find anything, we make a pass by the edge of the jungle — strictly to look; not to enter.”

Bow grits his teeth. “Yeah.” He reaches into his pack and draws out two attack drones, sets them to perimeter-defense, and leaves them hovering over the speeders. “Let’s go.”

* * *

The camp yields further evidence that Entrapta was there: a large rectangular imprint in the sand where heavy equipment recently sat, a circular imprint from a power generator; vehicles broken down for scrap metal.

“Fabricator, and one of the power generators they stole up in the north,” Bow says.

“How did she move them around? Those things are super heavy,” Adora wonders.

“I think such a feat would be a trifle for the ‘smartest engineer in the Hordelands,’ was that what you called her?”

Adora just nods. “I think we can conclusively say neither of them are here anymore.”

“And if the jungle draws you in, then…”

“We’re going to have to…”

“Shit.”

They head back to the speeders, only to find they have… Drifted. Perhaps a handful of yards, towards the jungle.

They mount up.

“Remember, we’re not going in. We’re just sweeping the edge,” Bow says.

“Yeah.”

* * *

They sweep the border between the strange jungle, and the wide beach; and it is evident _why_ there is such a border.

It is man-made. There’s a belt of discolored sand a hundred feet wide which hosts only dead or dying vegetation; a few skeletons of birds sit there as well. Their helmets pick up dangerous levels of toxins in the air.

“Good thing we have the speeders,” Adora notes. “That there is pure poison.”

“Adora,” Bow says. “This way?”

Adora becomes aware that her speeder is pointed directly at the treeline. “Shit.”

She banks, and they head southeast at a decent pace. Multiple times, one of them reminds the other to stay outside the band of poison, as they inevitably start drifting towards the deep jungle.

The trunks are gnarled, and the underbrush is dense. Noises emanate from it as one would expect: bird song, crickets at play, and in-between them the low howls of unseen things. It’s as if the trees move when you don’t look.

They reach the end of their journey, where the trees encroach on the beach and dip their roots in the saltwater.

“Let’s turn back and sweep to the northwest,” Bow says. “And let’s go over the water, put some distance between us and the trees.”

“Sounds good; maybe a snack too while we’re at a safe distance.”

They circle out to sea, and take a break, still mounted, a few hundred yards off shore, to drink water and eat a packet of MRE-slurry. “It feels like they’re too sweet,” Adora says. “I might have messed up the ratios.”

“We’ll live. Probably.”

Then they circle around and approach the other end of the beach from the sea, finishing their sweep of the treeline at the camp, for one last stop — among other things to heed nature’s call. The facilities are still functioning; if one doesn’t mind using a bucket of sea-water to flush.

“My guess is they just took the most direct route,” Bow says. “Straight up across the beach, and into the forest. We could try to find some footprints,” he says.

“Do you think they met up and left together?”

“Difficult to say,” Bow muses. “Glimmer’s dad didn’t leave much of a trail, and I don’t know when it rained.”

“We have thousands of acres to search,” Adora says. “Lead the way.”

“Yeah.” Bow pulls out the big multi-paged atlas the Custodian printed for them. He flips the pages to where they planned their search. Using the speeders to cover ground faster and easier than on foot, and accounting for how far a person can realistically move through rough terrain over the period of days that has elapsed since Entrapta was exiled here.

It is a _lot_ of ground to cover. He closes it, and stows it on the speeder.

“Stay sharp,” he says. “Let’s go.”

Then they accelerate towards the wood line. On foot, one would have to cut the underbrush away with each step, but the speeders simply glide over.

* * *

They make camp for the night. Draping the speeders in tarps, and hanging their tents and hammocks. They put the drones on patrol duty and sleep in shifts — due to his enhancements, Bow needs much less sleep than Adora.

Come morning they head out again.

* * *

The forest is even more bizarre up close. Some of the trees are bioluminescent, and others are entirely hollow. Critters scurry out of sight wherever they go; and there is something not quite animal about them.

On occasion they pass by a huge overgrown thing, busted-up First-Ones’ devices, mostly, and the occasional _enormous_ skeleton.

* * *

“I’d give a lot for a moment’s silence,” Adora says.

“If the birds ever stop singing, that’s a bad sign,” Bow notes.

Adora puts her helmet back on. In just the few short minutes she has had it off to eat and drink, several insects has stung her; even despite the bug spray.

* * *

Adora notices it first: the little clock display in her visor is glitching.

“Hey Bow, check the time,” she says.

“Huh,” he says. “That’s weird.”

Adora engages her communicator. “Swift Wind, come in… Custodian… This is Administrator Adora, come in.”

They sit there on each their speeder for a moment.

“Shit.”

* * *

“Are we lost?” Adora asks. “You’ve spent a full minute looking at the map now.”

“If all else fails we have the sun and that giant mountain peak,” Bow says, “but I’ll admit I am having some trouble.”

* * *

Bow nearly hits it with his speeder; he stomps down on the brake pedal, and the jerk is painful.

Before him is an enormous head.

Adora stops behind him. “What is it?” she asks.

The head is proto-reptilian, covered in silver-blue scales. Gaping nostrils adorns its snout, and where the mouth is slightly ajar, one sees fearsome teeth. The eyes are closed.

“ _A dragon,_ ” Bow whispers. “ _If it wakes up we’re dead._ ”

Adora stiffens. Then gently glides up to Bow to get a better look. “Look!” she says, and points.

Bow startles, but looks to where she points.

The gigantic creature is caught in the black vines, which are engulfing its body; almost growing in place.

“I think it’s dead,” Adora says.

“Maybe. But the dragons went extinct a thousand years ago,” Bow says. “This one seems pristine.”

They circle the gigantic beast, looking for its mortal wound, finding none. As they return to the head, they find that the foliage around its snout is billowing ever so slightly in the wind.

“It is breathing,” Bow says.

Adora pauses. “Is— is this what happens to things that get lost in the forest?” she asks.

“Maybe. Or maybe they die, and this Dragon is some kind of exception. I don’t think we should linger.”

“I agree.”

* * *

They coast to a stop.

“What is it?” Bow asks.

“I don’t know, this all seems familiar,” she says.

“Are you saying we’re going in a circle?”

“Could be. Where’s north?”

“I don’t know, the compass is busted.”

“It’s still light out, climb to the treetops and find the sun,” Adora says.

Bow dismounts, and Adora deploys the attack drones.

Luckily, the hollow trees with their lattice trunks are easily climbable, and Bow reaches the canopy quickly. He orients himself — it’s late afternoon.

How many days have they been here?

“ _Bow I need some help down there._ ”

He starts, and quickly starts descending again, cursing that he didn’t put on a slow-fall belt before going up here.

Coming far enough down to see, he spots Adora chopping at something with a machete.

The black vines. To the naked eye they are creeping towards the speeders.

Bow jumps the rest of the way down, landing a bit too hard. “Let’s go!” he yells. He grabs his own machete and cuts away some of the vines that have already made contact with his speeder.

They mount up and speed off.

* * *

“Counting out the rations, we’ve been here for a week,” Bow says.

Adora is keeping close watch on the vines. They let the speeders hover at the highest setting. “It doesn’t feel like it,” she says.

“That’s what scares me.”

“We should make sure to change our underwear,” Adora says and starts undoing her armor.

“Good point.”

* * *

The birds go quiet.

“Oh no,” Bow says.

There’s a yowling growl in the distance; bone-chilling.

“Is that..?” Adora asks.

“Sounds like a Dire Ambush Beetle, yup.”

Adora reaches for her Toha-Zev, and dials it up to maximum power.

From the underbrush to their left, the gigantic monstrosity emerges; six-legged, with blue carapace, a gaping maw with many jaws full of teeth, and just to add to it’s intimidating look, _glowing eyes._

Adora brings the gun to bear and shoots.

A cylindrical section of the monster, half a foot across, vanishes in a flash of light.

It staggers for a moment, then falls over sideways.

“That was…” Bow says.

“Yeah,” Adora says. “Let’s go before we find out what likes eating dead ambush beetles.”

* * *

Something takes Bow by the neck and pulls him clean off his speeder, rattling his teeth, and throwing him on the ground. He lands hard on his back, and a small part of him is very grateful he is wearing both a collar and a back-shield made from First-Ones’ tech.

“Tripwire!” Adora yells, and manages to duck under it, intercepting his speeder, grabbing hold of its steering by leaning off her own, and braking them both.

She puts both in reverse and somehow manages to be back on top of Bow in seconds.

Bow kips up to his feet and grabs his bow and quiver rather than mounting. He nocks an arrow with three more between his fingers. Adora dismounts, brandishing a Yala-Zev.

“Whoever strung that up, they might still be nearby,” Adora says. “Do you think it’s wise?”

“Yeah. Put all the drones up.”

Adora gives the order, and the ten little spheres rise out of their packs.

“ _What are you doing in my forest, Horde Scum! Begone! Your place is on the coast!_ ” someone yells. A deep manly voice.

“We’re not with the Horde!” Adora yells. “We’re from Brightmoon — well, _were_ from Brightmoon.”

“ _Lies!_ ”

“I think I recognize that voice,” Bow says. “King Micah?! Is that you?”

There’s a pause. “ _How do you know who I am?_ ”

“We’re kinda here to rescue you, Your Majesty!”

“ _Oh._ ”

There’s a rustling in the canopy above, and a mountain of a man comes down, deftly jumping from branch to branch. His clothes are a Horde uniform with the insignia cut out, which has seen better days, and to his back is strapped a tattered pack, and an improvised staff of gnarled wood clutching a purple crystal. His beard is greying, and his hair is not far behind. Exposure has taken any semblance of youth from his face, and a few prominent scars speak to the hazards of the land.

“Why didn’t you just says so?” he asks. “Say, for someone from Brightmoon, I must confess your equipment seems very… Horde-like.”

“It’s First-Ones’ tech,” Adora says. “The Horde has been copying it, recently.”

“That explains it. That last shipment of soldiers were _very_ hard to take down.”

“With respect, Your Majesty, what are you doing here?” Adora asks

“Oh, I heard a dire ambush beetle on the war path, and strung this —” he twangs the wire over their heads with his staff “— in its eye-height. Sometimes escapees from the camp wander in here, and I didn’t want them to get eaten. How’s your throat, young man?”

“Armor too the worst of it, Your Majesty,” Bow says.

“Now, tell me, you’re here to rescue me?” Micah asks. “And please, I’m no king here.”

“Oh, uh, manners,” Adora says, “This here is Bow, Brightmoon Ranger Captain, retired, I am Adora, General, also temporarily retired.”

“Seems a little small for a rescue team,” he says. “And ‘temporarily retired’ what’s that about?”

“Yeah, we kind of left without permission,” Bow says. “But we came very well armed, the beetle is dead back there.”

“Oh good,” Micah says. “General and Captain, that’s very high ranks for someone so young.”

“Well Bow here is the brightest Ranger in a generation,” Adora says. “Or so I hear. Me? I’m She-Ra.”

“Oh,” Micah says. “That’s… Interesting. I had imagined someone… Taller. More deific. Say, do you have some water or food there in those saddle-bags? I’m ashamed to admit but my rations ran out.”

Adora obliges him a canteen and an MRE packet.

He drinks greedily, then fumbles for a moment with the plastic wrapping, before Adora shows him how to tear it. He slurps down the slurry with very little in the way of kingly manners, and wipes his mouth in his sleeve. “This is delicious, what is it?”

“Food?” Adora says.

“Aha. Tell me, how is Brightmoon? I assume the war is won now that the prison camp is deserted, and you’re finally here for me. Although I gather unofficially? Say, if you’re She-Ra, whose authority could you even cross? Sorry I ask so many questions, I haven’t spoken to anyone in a while.”

“Uh…” Bow says.

“We’re not winning, sir,” Adora says. “We’re losing. And we crossed the Queen.”

“Ah. So you’re here because you need me in the war effort; how’s my dear Angella? And my little girl Glimmer?”

“Well,” Adora says, “we’re good friends with Glimmer! She’s doing fine; still; I hope.” She forces a smile.

Micah looks between them. “I had always hoped she would make friends closer to her own age…”

Bow and Adora share a look.

Bow nods.

Adora sighs.

“There’s no gentle way to say this, sir,” Adora says. “Angella is probably dead. Your daughter is the Queen now.”

“But at such a young age— I don’t understand,” he says.

“She’s twenty years old,” Bow says. “You’ve been gone for fifteen years.”

Micah stumbles a little and supports himself on the tree he was just hiding in. “No… No this can’t be. I—”

“Sir, I know it’s a lot to take in. I’m sorry.”

Micah takes a deep breath. “You need to let me in on everything that’s going on. Please.”

* * *

Micah is a good listener. Despite whatever hardships he has been through in fifteen years of exile: raptly attentive, quiet, and asking occasional highly specific questions the whole way through Bow and Adora’s explanation.

Adora’s defection, She-Ra’s re-appearance, the ball and abduction that led to the formation of the Alliance. Shadow Weaver’s defection, the Battle for the Ash Corridor. The march on the Hordelands from all sides, the Horde stealing First-Ones’ tech, and finding the Swift Wind. The portal, Glimmer ascending to the throne, the fall of Salineas and Snows, the surrender of Candila, and now…

Micah remains quiet for a while.

“My condolences, Miss Adora,” he says, “that I did not hunt down and kill my old mentor when I once had the chance. It sounds like she is cause of at least half the problems we now face.”

“Oh, I feel the same sometimes, honestly,” Adora says, and chuckles. “If you ever meet her, just ask her how her hand is doing; she hates that.”

Micah smiles a little despite himself.

“I’ll be sure to remember that. However, let us discuss the more serious matter: I fear Glimmer has inherited at least some of the… Shall we say unflattering parts of my bloodline. I am neither ashamed nor proud to admit that we in my family embody the saying that power corrupts. I had hoped that Angella’s gentle influence might have steered her away from that, but I fear the worst now.”

“And what about you?” Bow asks.

“Great men are often bad men,” Micah says. “I have done things I am not proud of, but I was never a ruling king, and for that I have perhaps avoided the worst. As for Glimmer’s plans, it sounds like we have no choice but to locate this Entrapta character, and reach the — Heart, was it? — before Glimmer has a chance to activate it.”

“Have you seen her, Entrapta?” Adora asks.

“I have. She stole the food I was planning to steal from the prison camp. I think I might even know where she is now.”

“And where is that?” Bow asks.

Micah points over his shoulder. “In the mountain.”

“That’s the center of the island,” Adora says.

“It is indeed, and the madness of the jungle only gets more potent the closer we go. The monsters also get bolder, and the black vines get… Grabbier.”

Bow and Adora exchange looks.

“You mentioned there were other survivors, sometimes?” Adora asks.

“Yeah; I’ve tried setting up settlements, but they never last. I can’t tell you what happens or why. Maybe it’s the Horde, maybe it’s monsters, maybe it’s just madness.”

“How have you made it here for so long?” Bow asks. “I’m a trained Ranger, but fifteen years is just something else.”

“Being the most competent battle sorcerer in a generation helps. But the worst part is the influence of this place. I’ve seen teams of Horde soldiers just wordlessly wander into the underbrush never to be seen again. How I’ve resisted it for so long — I want to blame the rigorous mental training I underwent when I was young, but I cannot say for certain.”

Adora gets up. “We’re burning daylight. We should get going.”

Micah stands and brushes off his behind. “I can scarcely believe it’s been this long.”

“Well, to us it feels like we’ve been here a day, but we’re down a week’s worth of food,” Adora says.

* * *

Micah rides on Bow’s speeder. They give him a spare helmet, and redistribute some of their gear to even the weight.

“You said she’s ‘in the mountain,’ did you mean as in ‘inside it’ or something else?” Adora asks.

“I mean inside it, yes,” Micah says. “It’s not a mountain; it’s a structure of some kind. Man-made and overgrown with the black vines. Hollow. Things are… A lot worse inside; I’ve only been there once. I think.”

“What are they even, those vines?” Bow asks. “They tried to eat the speeders.”

“If I ever found out, I must have forgotten again.”

* * *

“Are we completely out of water?” Adora asks. “Hey, Micah, do you know where we can find a stream or something? Doesn’t matter if it’s clean, we have a filtration device.”

Bow holds up a hand. “Listen.”

“Bird song? It’s still there.” Adora says.

“Something’s different,” Micah says.

There’s a screech that pierces the twilight — It’s twilight? — and something flutters between the treetops.

“We need to go, _now,_ ” Bow says. He hops up on his and Micah’s speeder; Adora mounts hers, and they set off.

Behind them, a cloud of critters rise from the treetops on webbed wings.

“ _Dirge hawks!_ ”

Flying fast through rough terrain is dangerous; Adora knows it too well. They speed up as much as possible regardless, Bow weaving expertly in and out of trees on the encumbered speeder, and Adora follows suit.

Claws scrape across her helmet, as the monsters catch up. One-eyed man-eating critters the size of small dogs, with bat wings and a maw full of teeth.

She feels the impact of one of them landing on the seat behind her, and draws the Aegis without looking, and transmutes it into the form of a self-targeting hand-gun. She pulls the trigger and the small animal tumbles away behind her, dead.

No sooner has she done that, than three more swoop down at her. She chances a glance at Bow and Micah, who are beset by at least a dozen. Micah’s shielding spells hold them off.

Adora banks hard and falls in behind them; slaves her speeder to Bow’s, turning the two vehicles into a train; then she spins in her seat to face backwards, draws her Yala-Zev, and unleashes automatic fire: a hail of varmint-caliber holographic bullets. She cuts swathes through the swarming beasts, sending scores of them to the forest floor, before finally the pack mentality takes over and they cease their pursuit.

Then Adora’s speeder hits a branch, gets knocked off course, sending itself and her directly into a tree.


	18. A Terrible Purpose, Part 1

Glimmer strides into the Hordelands embassy, accompanied by only two royal guards and a scribe. It is a repurposed noble’s townhouse, with an expanded lobby, and the rest rebuilt into mostly offices.

“I’d like to see Maroon, please,” Glimmer tells the receptionist; a young conform man with floppy ears. His office dress is reminiscent of Horde uniforms.

“Oh goodness,” he mutters. “Of course, right away Your Majesty. Let me fetch him myself.”

He hurries off.

Glimmer stands there, confidently smiling, and rolling back and forth on her feet with impatience.

Marmoon appears, splendidly dressed. “Ah, Your Majesty, to what do I owe the pleasure.”

“You may inform your Chancellor that I, on behalf of Brightmoon and all her subjects, nobility, and satellites, wishes to engage in negotiations for peace. At once please —” she takes out her communicator “— I know you people have these.”

Marmoon is rightly confused. “Right away, Your Majesty, the Chancellor will be most pleased.”

“You can also inform him that if he detonates another of his bombs, I will personally strange him in his sleep.”

Marmoon straightens his tie. “More threats, I see.”

“I cannot help that your beloved Chancellor is such a bonehead. You may quote me on that. You may also relay my first and absolutely non-negotiable demand: the safe return of the people of Elberon, whom his General Catra so rudely abducted.”

Marmoon takes out a notepad and writes a few articles of shorthand. “Peace talks, no more bombs, him being a bonehead, return the people of Elberon,” he mutters to himself. Then he takes out a communicator.

He selects a call manually rather than by speech, and waits, tapping his foot. “It’s me… I need the Chancellor to call me… Yes right now… I insist… Listen I am invoking diplomatic priority… Thank you.”

Hangs up, then gestures a ‘just a moment’ kind of gesture to Glimmer.

His communicator chimes. “Hello, sir. Yes, thank you for your expediency. I’m standing right here with the Queen of Brightmoon, who wants to enter peace negotiations… Yes, I am surprised as well… She wants the return of the inhabitants of Elberon… Then she’s also requesting that you do not use ‘bombs’ anymore, or she’ll take it out on your person… Really?”

The call ends. Marmoon looks at Glimmer. “He’s agreed to all terms. We shall be in touch with arrangements for an official negotiation on your full terms of peace.”

* * *

Catra’s phone rings. The land-line in her office.

“Are you going to pick that up?” Colonel Lonnie asks her.

She picks it up.

“Hello?” Catra asks. “Chancellor, hello —” she leans back in her chair, and twirls the spiral chord around one finger, as if talking to an old friend “— to what do I owe that you’re calling my office phone of all things?”

Then she rapidly jerks forward. “ _What?!_ ”

“Yes, I heard you. Why would they surrender?! They’re the most obstinate arseholes — Hordak, they are trying to pull something. Just like our sources in Apieria say Sweet Bee is… There has to be a second angle— … Yes, Chancellor.”

Catra looks at the handset.

Then she slams it down so hard shards of plastic go flying.

“Bad news?” Lonnie asks.

“The Brightmoon invasion has been furloughed indefinitely. They’ve entered negotiations.”

“Ah.” Lonnie doesn’t know what to say. “Shall I pass along the order to stand down?”

Catra slumps. “Yes. Mothball the whole thing, send the operatives into active reserve… And Colonel?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I need you to oversee security again. Sorcery Division H.Q., Portal Physics H.Q.; if I know that Brightmoon Queen well, she’s planning something.”

Lonnie shifts in her seat. “With respect, General, shouldn’t you put someone less important in charge?”

“Who can I trust with vigilance based on a mere hunch?” Catra asks rhetorically. “Repurpose your entire task group to this end. We are not having a repeat of your wanting performance.”

Lonnie rises from her seat. She neglects to mention that Catra was the one that failed the first time. Such a comment would likely drive her boss to violence.

There’s a communicator chime. Lonnie checks hers with a hand on the door, finding nothing.

“Hold the door, Lonnie,” Catra says.

Lonnie turns to see Catra getting her coat, communicator in hand.

“Might I ask what you’re going out for?”

“Lunch reservation, if you must know,” Catra says

“With whom?”

“A friend.”

“I didn’t know you had friends,” Lonnie says.

“The things people don’t know about me — you could fill entire books with them.”

* * *

Governance becomes a chore. Glimmer takes steps to minimize it — after all what is there to govern in a country locked down in fear of a sudden invasion. The main word on everyone’s lips is the ongoing negotiations, which thankfully are going well. Among other things, the Horde has already made good on the promise to return the population of Elberon. Unfortunately, the Elberonians have horrid stories to tell of the Horde internment camps, and a number of the infirm and elderly have perished in the two weeks they spent there.

Among them, unfortunately, the real Flutterina. To pneumonia. Frosta attends the funeral, against all advice.

* * *

Glimmer blinks into the central library-cum-sorcerous workshop, startling several of the Mystacor’s mages assembled there. Piles of books have been either taken from the shelves, or fetched from Mystacor through the waygate.

“Status report?” Glimmer asks Castaspella.

“We’re nearing completion of the binding ritual template,’ she says.”The transportation ritual is already completed."

“It is challenging to account for the unknown unknowns,” Shadow Weaver adds. “But with this, even I am not without confidence. Your aunt has kept the College of Sorcery well in her tenure as Headmistress.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever heard a genuine compliment from you,” Castaspella says.

“Whenever you are ready, we shall proceed with the plan,” Glimmer says.

“Give us one more day, Your Majesty.”

“You’ve already had over a week,” Glimmer says. “But I suppose there is no use in attempting to hurry you lot along.”

* * *

It’s a day’s ride to the edge of the Whispering Woods, and then a day’s travel through the ungainly terrain, guided by Rangers, to the Crystal Castle. Netossa has joined them, for extra security — a natural choice given her allegiance to Mystacor.

In Brightmoon, Glimmer has put forward her best diplomats — a cadre of trusted Nobles picked from among the whole nobility for their loyalty to the crown, and their acumen — with unofficial directions to draw negotiations out as much as possible. The sheer amount of evil grins Glimmer got wile passing that message around is downright unnerving. Spinnerella is among the few who did not react that way.

They reach the Dagon Rock without issue, and spend an Glimmer lets them take an hour to rest: the sorcerers are not used to the labors of overland travels.

Under Castaspella’s direction, they begin laying out the necessary runes in crushed Mystacorian glass. The outer rune is a further development of Shadow Weaver’s work on teleportation. The inner rune is a binding spell of truly staggering power.

It is nearly nightfall when they finish.

“Should we press on with the mission?” Shadow Weaver asks Glimmer. “Many of the sorcerers express a desire to see the fruit of their labor.”

“Yes. Let them take a brief recess, I have a few things to attend.”

“As you wish. I shall keep them from the wine.”

* * *

Light Hope senses the intrusion into her domain — a Runestone Wielder, but not She-Ra.

The gatekeeper steadfastly refuses to acquiesce to her demands for information.

The elevator opens revealing the Moonstone wielder, called Glimmer.

Light Hope manifests a pleasant lounge for her. Conversation table, comfortable chairs, blue hues, and flowers — she likes flowers.

“`Hello, Glimmer,`” Light Hope says.

“Light Hope,” Glimmer says.

“`It is highly irregular that you visit me unaccompanied by Adora. There better be a good reason.`”

“There’s two. The first is scientific curiosity, the second is Destiny. She-Ra is in peril.”

Light Hope takes a seat, and indicates for Glimmer to sit.

“`Pray tell.`”

“She-Ra recently went to a place called Beast Island, I fear she may be in trouble there. I have a lead on why she went there, but it is locked in the mind of a personality construct — much like you, but I assume less powerful. The best way to get the information it is keeping from me would be to bend it to my will using sorcery.”

“`Ah. While I am not well-versed in sorcery, perhaps I can be of assistance. One moment...`” Light Hope materializes a book and starts paging. She stops. “`To properly bind a personality I would suggest following the procedure for any cthonic abberation.`”

Glimmer spies the words on the page. “That’s a Mystacorian manual on binding; how did you get that?”

“`It is in your satchel. I assumed you had brought it for me to page through for this exact purpose. Was I mistaken?`”

“Uh, no…”

“`Good. Does that fulfill your 'scientific curiosity?' I would very much like to discuss destiny now.`”

Glimmer nods. “If I activate the Heart of Ehteria, can I use it to wipe out the Horde?”

“`Yes,`” Light Hope lies. _If this ape thinks she will ever wield it, she is more deluded than I thought._

“How do I do that then?”

“`You must unite the last Runestone with it's wielder.`”

“Any idea how I do that?” Glimmer asks, “or who it might be?”

“`Given the right person, touch should be sufficient to form the bond.`”

“Oh. Really? Not some elaborate ritual?”

“`No. Why do you ask?`”

“No reason.”

“`As for the person, historical precedent indicates that Runestones have at least a mild preference for bloodlines.`”

Glimmer nods, then stands. “Thank you, Light Hope. Can I come back if I have further questions?”

“`Indeed you may.`”

Glimmer blinks away.

Light Hope turns her inner eye to the courtyard up by Dagon Rock. That princess is planning something; something involving complex sorcerous runes. Were she a hubristic mortal, Light Hope might find it amusing.

* * *

Glimmer flies south to Plumeria, conserving her blinking for what’s to come. Aided by her by now well-practiced suite of flight-aid spells and the First Flame of Elm, it is almost a pleasant journey.

She arrives well past nightfall, and heads to the temple.

Plumeria is a strange city, located in the center of the woods. A long line of wielders of the Heartblossom, the local nature-oriented sorcerers — ‘druids’ if you will — and the forest spirits, have fashioned the trees into houses.

For a _while_ now, Glimmer has intended to take a vacation here, but alas. Queening tends to get in the way of vacation time. She’ll have to ask Mermista how she managed to almost live on that yacht.

The temple is modest; housed in and on the outside of one of the larger trees, almost wider than tall, and within walking distance of the ancient Whisper Oak which holds the Heartblossom Runestone.

At this time of night, the streets are mostly empty, save for Rangers and plant monsters.

A _lot_ of plant monsters. They travel in packs. It’s a _little_ unnerving.

By the entrance to the temple, Glimmer is met by an elderly woman in a plain dress, with flowers in her hair. She seems familiar.

“How can we help you, young lady?”

“I am Queen Glimmer of Brightmoon; I’m here to see Princess Perfuma.”

Royalty doesn’t faze this woman. “Right this way dear.”

She leads glimmer to the outside of the trunk, and up a staircase that spirals the tree. They enter through a doorway, and head down a hall; the floors, walls, and ceilings made of lacquered heartwood.

The old woman reaches a door, and knocks twice. “Perfuma, love, are you decent?”

There’s a pause, then the door opens. “Yes, mother,” Perfuma says.

Glimmer finally places the facial features; the familial relation is obvious in retrospect.

“The Queen of Brightmoon is here to see you.”

Perfuma steps out. “Glimmer, hi. What can I help you with?”

“I need to talk to Scorpia, do you know where she is?”

Perfuma blushes. “Of course,” she says, smiling. “Listen, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, but Scorpia is with me in my suite.”

“Perfuma, please,” Glimmer says. “I don’t care who you’re sleeping with.”

“I am _not_ ‘sleeping with’ her; if I were, I would not be so bashful. She’s… In a bad place — and she is the ‘strong silent’ type if you know.”

“Like Adora.”

“Exactly. We’re having a sleepover, and talking about our feelings. She is much too raw from her recent breakup; even if I _did_ want to have a relationship with her, I do not want to be a simple rebound.”

“But you do totally want to, right?” Glimmer says, smirking.

Perfuma composes herself. “Scorpia is kind, loyal, and clever. I will not deny that she is also physically attractive. Does that satisfy your voyeuristic curiosity?”

Glimmer holds up both hands, “all right, cousin. If you say so.”

Perfuma nods, and heads back to the door. She opens it. “Scorpia, Queen Glimmer is here to talk to you.”

Scorpia emerges, dressed in a flowing dress, which appears partially made of flower petals. She is made up in ways which subtly enhance her natural feature, and her carapace is adorned with traditional Plumerian skin-painting patterns.

She is stunning to look at. Even in this pleasant-smelling city in the middle of a forest, even standing next to Perfuma, Scorpia smells distinctly like flowers in a way no Brightmoon perfume can achieve.

“Okay,” Glimmer says. “Hello, Princess Scorpia.”

“Your Majesty,” Scorpia says.

Glimmer sighs. “I need your help.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I need you to become the wielder of the Black Garnet.”

Scorpia’s face contorts in an expression that can best be described as embodying the word ‘yikes.’

“Uh, ma’am; Your Majesty, I don’t think I can help you with that,” she says. “See, the Black Garnet has never responded to me.”

“The last wielder of it was your great-grandmother, was it not?” Glimmer asks. “I’ve read the genealogies.”

“Oh, she was _crazy,_ let me tell you. My great-grandfather was the one who initially forged my clan’s allegiance with Chancellor Hordak, but my great-grandmother opposed it vehemently. She was never going to give up the Garnet, so she… She went out in a blaze of glory. It’s the reason we don’t have an ancestral castle.”

Glimmer reaches out and takes a hold of Scorpia’s pincer. “Please, all I’m asking is that you try. If it doesn’t work, then we’ll have to find someone else; but Runestones seem to prefer bloodlines — you’re our best bet.”

“Scorpia doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t want to,” Perfuma says.

“No, I want to help,” Scorpia says. “I owe that much. But — if it does work, and the Heart works, all I’m asking is that you… I still have people I care about back home.”

“I promise you,” Glimmer says, “I am not about to unleash it on any civilians. And if the weapon doesn’t allow me to strike with specificity, then I won’t use it at all. Then we’ll just have to defeat the local Horde in some other way, and save the Heart for the off-world.”

Scorpia nods. “Tell me what I need to do,” she says.

“Get your cloak.”

* * *

Scorpia stumbles. “ _Okay!_ That was _weird,_ ” she says.

“It always is the first time,” Glimmer says, apologetic. “It’s better if you close your eyes.”

“Where are we?” Scorpia asks, orienting herself. There in the camp in the colonnade courtyard under Dagon Rock, she spots Shadow Weaver. “Oh. Is this that big plan of yours, Your Majesty?”

“It is,” Glimmer says. She gestures to Shadow Weaver, who begins giving orders. Sorcerers spring into action, taking up positions in the massive diagram, and consulting note-cards. “We are going inside. Are you ready for another teleport?”

Scorpia holds out a pincer, and closes her eyes.

* * *

They blink down into the Crystal Castle proper, arriving in the lounge room where Light Hope is still sitting virtually where Glimmer left her.

“`Hello again, Glimmer.`”

“Whoa,” Scorpia says. “Who is this?”

“`I am Light Hope,`” Light Hope says.

“Oh, right,” Scorpia says. “I’ve— I’ve heard about you!”

“`Indeed. What questions do you have for me, Glimmer?`”

“This here is Princess Scorpia; she’s a direct descendant of the former wielder of the Black Garnet. Will she do?”

“`I cannot tell for certain, but it seems plausible. The only way to know is to try.`”

Glimmer nods. She takes a few steps back, pulling Scorpia with her, then gestures in the air.

The whole space warps for a moment as the teleportation rune activates, and in an instant, Light Hope is surrounded by twenty sorcerers, and standing within a binding diagram.

Immediately twenty voices begin incanting, and the diagram glows blindingly bright blue.

The lounge room falls away into void, but the floor remains stable.

“`What is the meaning of this?!`” Light Hope says, sternly, but without raising her voice.

“I know you are the administrator of the Heart of Etheria,” Glimmer says. “This is me taking control of it through you.”

“`That is a clear breach of conduct, there will be consequences for---`”

“Shut up,” Glimmer says.

Light Hope does.

“When the last Runestone gains Scorpia as a wielder, and the Heart becomes active, you are not to fire without my say so; and only at targets of my choosing. Understand?”

Light Hope nods.

“Congratulations, Your Majesty,” Shadow Weaver says.

“We’re not done yet,” Glimmer says, and holds a hand out to Scorpia.

* * *

“So this is the Moonstone?” Scorpia asks.

“Indeed,” Glimmer says.

“It’s very different from the Black Garnet.”

“Yes.”

Glimmer finishes drawing the spell diagram on the floor, and gestures for the four Royal Guards to step inside; one of them hands her a document: a diplomatic visa.

“Scorpia, step inside the circle please.”

Scorpia does. Glimmer blinks to the waygate, and opens a window to the Fright Zone. Then she blinks back and activates the teleportation ritual by attempting to blink. Again there is a gust of wind, and they are enveloped in black flames.

They arrive in the chamber by the Fright Zone waygate, and immediately a klaxon goes off.

Seconds later, a dozen Horde solders pour into the room, aiming Yala-Zevs at them.

Glimmer doesn’t flinch. “I am Queen Glimmer of Brightmoon. This is a diplomatic visitation visa issued by the Chancellor himself. By right, I am allowed to visit the Fright Zone unmolested, accompanied by a reasonable retinue of my choosing.”

The soldiers hover for a moment, then a few of them turn to look at their commanding officer.

“Are you the one in charge?” Glimmer asks. “Please send for your superior. This is a diplomatic matter; Brightmoon is currently negotiating peace with the Horde, and I would hate to imagine what the Chancellor might do to any of you if your conduct jeopardizes that.”

* * *

Lonnie gets out of bed _fast._

She arrives at the Portal Physics division in her officer’s car and runs into the building. Deeming the elevators too slow, she takes the stairs two at a time, and finally arrives in the lowest sub-basement, more out of breath than she would like. The officer’s life has done her in.

Entering the waygate chamber, she sees the Queen of Brightmoon herself, wings and all. “Ah. Someone important. Hello, miss —”

“Colonel Lonnie, Your Majesty,” Lonnie says. “I am in charge of security of this facility, may I inspect your visa?”

Glimmer hands it off. Lonnie unfolds it. Letterhead is genuine, signature matches, and the wax seal fits. “Everything seems to be in order,” she says. “If you will allow me to accompany you to the embassy, we can—”

“There will be no need for that,” Glimmer says. “As per the clauses in our ongoing negotiation, I am allowed to inspect the Black Garnet for signs of tampering. You may call your — what was it, ‘ministry of diplomatic affairs’? — to confirm that.”

“There is no need, I am familiar with that agreement,” Lonnie says. “I also oversee security in the Sorcery Division. I am prepared to escort you there right now.”

In part due to having woken up mere minutes before, and the Queen’s wings obscuring, it is only now that Lonnie notices Scorpia.

“Scorpia?”

“Hello, Colonel,” Scorpia says.

“I should have known; you’re officially declared AWOL. If the Special Services see you—”

“She is under diplomatic protection as part of my retinue,” Glimmer says.

Lonnie shrugs. “Fair enough. Brightmoon, huh?”

“Yeah, they were willing to help me with a… Mistake I made,” Scorpia says.

“And flower crown weaving, apparently.” Lonnie turns to the soldiers. “All of you, with me.”

* * *

Lonnie has to alert the diplomatic ministry, of course, but otherwise has jurisdiction to take them straight to the Black Garnet.

It is just a short walk down the streets from the Portal Physics headquarters, and then down an elevator.

Lonnie leads Glimmer, Scorpia, and the four guards into the Black Garnet chamber.

“Lonnie?” Rogelio asks.

He and Kyle are working on dismantling the last of the equipment used to divert the Garnet’s power for the portal experiment.

“What is this?” Glimmer asks.

“Answer her, Technical Officer,” Lonnie says.

Rogelio salutes. “Ma’am, we are dismantling this equipment, in accordance with the non-tamper order regarding the Black Garnet,” he rumbles.

“Why now?”

“We’re understaffed,” Lonnie says. “Badly.”

Glimmer frowns. “I guess I’ll accept that. Princess Scorpia; now it’s up to you.”

Scorpia steps forward.

“ _Is that Captain Scorpia?_ ” Kyle whispers to Rogelio.

“What am I supposed to do?” Scorpia asks.

Standing before it is intimidating; the gigantic, irregular red stone, that supposedly is her birthright.

“Ma’am, with respect,” Lonnie says. “Aren’t you violating the non-tamper agreement?”

Glimmer looks at her, as if meaning to kill. She holds out her staff, and flares her wings. “What makes you think that agreement is bilateral, Horde Scum?” She says icily.

Lonnie backs off. “You know what, fuck this shit. Rogelio, Kyle, we’re leaving.”

“Lonnie?” Kyle asks.

“I’m not being paid enough for this.”

The three file out, leaving only Glimmer, Scorpia, and the four guards. “Guard the door,” Glimmer says, and then it’s just the two of them.

She walks up to Scorpia. “You asked me what I was supposed to do. I don’t know. When I received part of the Moonstone’s power — there was a whole ritual about it. Now I am not so sure anymore than any of it was necessary.”

“Oh,” Scorpia says.

“I think — if I were to guess — that all you have to do is… Want it. Truly. Whether for its own sake or to use for something else. Then touch it.”

Glimmer puts a hand on Scorpia’s arm, avoiding her spikes. “I believe in you.”

Scorpia nods. “I… I think I might believe in myself, too.”

She reaches out a pincer and touches the Black Garnet.


	19. A Terrible Purpose, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: violence, mild body horror

The portal opens before her, yawning, red. The world falls away into Nothing.

The wind picks up, she scrabbles for purchase. Then the pull takes her and she falls into oblivion.

Catra wakes with a start. She sits up in bed, drenched in cold sweat, and finds the spot next to her empty.

“Double?” she asks.

No answer.

She throws on a robe, and heads to the kitchen of the large penthouse apartment, looking over Capital. Her city. From the gutters to the top.

Her phone rings. The landline.

* * *

“Sir, do you have a moment?”

Hordak looks up from his workbench. On it is strewn dozens of components, of which he is trying to achieve unity in a process that is like making a whole from three halves. When finished — if finished — it will be a personal portal device, controlled by intention.

The aide by the door is one of his few trusted butlers.

“You never ask without first summarizing _why_ you need a moment, Jones.” Hordak says. “Hello, Double Trouble.”

Jones dissolves into darkness and then reforms into Double Trouble’s reptilian form. “Not much gets by you, Chancellor.”

“Indeed it does not; I thought our payment arrangements were in order. I also hear you have been entertaining yourself with my Commander in Chief.”

Double Trouble saunters into the room. “Why, can’t I just want to chat with an old friend?”

“No. Because we are not friends,” Hordak says. “I know well your ways of deception and preference for disruption; I know better than to take anything you say as blatant lies.”

Double Trouble crosses their arms. “ _Rude._ But if you want to play hard-ball. I have genuine intel, which I am willing to sell to you. For one dinar.”

Hordak pauses. The mimic knows better than to sell false info — even for a token amount. All else, it certainly knows the value of _reputation._ And how easily it is lost.

He digs through his trouser pocket for his wallet, and takes out a banknote. “Keep the rest as a tip,” he says, and holds it out. Double Trouble snatches it with their tail.

“You’re been on edge, friend. I understand; it’s never easy to go through divorce.” Double Trouble turns their hair purple, and it winds itself into pigtails.

Hordak growls. “If you ever take her form, I will kill you. You know I know how.”

Double Trouble starts perusing the expansive workshop, wiping machines for dust with a slender fingertip.

“Sorry, of course, of course, I know, I know, it’s a raw nerve with you still.”

They pick up a metal chip from lathe work — a long spiral.

“You still owe me my ‘prison escape’ fee, it’s the same when _I_ am the one escaping.”

“Is that all?” Hordak says.

“When Catra sent me to Brightmoon, I was looking forward to meeting this ex-wife of yours. Figure out why she defected so suddenly; see her in action. At first I thought she might have taken a vacation…”

Hordak shakes his head. “She doesn’t— What are you saying?”

“Then Captain Scorpia — you know, Catra’s right-hand woman? She showed up, and told me the _scoop._ I mean, didn’t you ever wonder why the rebels weren’t suddenly equipping their armies with those little pew-pew guns?”

Hordak’s hands clench into fists.

“I figured, maybe you were in on it! She was a very… Fickle person. A bit like me; on the take for knowledge alone. And she already had a personal connection to She-Ra; so, she would make the perfect bait to get She-Ra out of Brightmoon! But judging from your dumb face now, no way-no way.”

“Cut to the chase, demon.”

“According to Scorpia — well, Princess _Perfuma’s_ recounting of the tale, I played curious, she was easily played — your sweet ex-wife discovered that the portal was going to —” Double Trouble waves their hands, “That whole dream-world thing which nearly ended the world, or so I heard from those in the know — that it was going to do _that._ ”

“I would have called it off immediately, had I known,” Hordak says.

“But you didn’t, and you didn’t” Double Trouble says. “Because Catra overheard, and decided that the risk was worth the victory over her nemesis. So she laid hands on that poor dear —” Double Trouble mimes a gut-punch “— and ordered the only witness, Scorpia, to put her on a long-haul flight, one way, to _you-know-where._ ”

Hordak has to steady himself on the workbench. “No. I— I have to save her, I—”

“Do you really think you have a chance? From what I hear, She-Ra has gone to Beast Island in your stead. So even if by some miracle, Entrapta is alive; she is _going_ to turn coat.”

Double Trouble saunters up to Hordak. “Which means: you’re a widower, or at least single. And it is _Catra’s_ fault. Do with that what you feel you must.”

Normally, he might have decided to tear a piece of machinery apart with his bare hands. Prime knows he has the raw strength.

But no. If this anger warrants destruction, it warrants that it be purposefully channeled as true violence.

“Leave me.”

“What, you aren’t going to throw something? Where’s that temper.”

“Stick around and maybe you will find out,” Hordak says.

“And that’s my cue to go. Good luck,” Double Trouble says, and runs off.

* * *

Adora wakes, and feels the worst she has in years. An old friend makes itself known: broken ribs.

She’s also lying on something slightly uncomfortable and narrow, which is moving, judging from the foliage moving past her above.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Bow says.

Adora turns her head, and regrets it. “What happened?”

“Your speeder crashed; completely destroyed. When it did, these big bags inflated, and you bounced off those, and missed the tree. I think that’s the only reason you’re still alive,” he says.

“King Micah?” she asks.

“I’m right here, Adora,” she hears from behind her. “We’re both fine.”

“How long was I out?” Adora asks.

“No idea,” Bow says. “We’ve been walking for a while. We’re getting closer to the mountain, but…”

“The closer you get, the worse the strangeness becomes,” Micah says.

Adora grits her teeth, and pushes herself up. Every muscle, joint, and bone in her body protests, but she tells them all to stop being so selfish.

“Adora, I really think you should take it easy,” Bow says.

Adora struggles to a seated position. “Get on. We don’t have time to walk.”

“Micah, you sit behind Adora,” Bow says. “Make sure she doesn’t fall off.”

* * *

Catra arrives in her car — a luxury sedan, these days — to the Chancellorial mansion.

The gate guard lets her though, at the display of her military badge, and she drives up the driveway avenue, past the perfectly manicured lawns, to the front gate. Whoever thought mansions were a good idea needs to be shot. They are too big, and too ostentatious, and the people who live in them are invariably idiots to at least some extent.

She grabs her fashion-appropriate shoulder bag from the passenger seat, which clashes with her relatively gender-neutral dress uniform, and fastens her long-hilted sword in its scabbard to her hip. Then she heads up the steps. There, she takes out her communicator and sends a brief letter-message.

She uses the door knocker, and waits for one of Hordak’s butlers to open the door. The wait draws out, and she decides to try the door, which she finds unlocked.

Ominous.

She steps inside, to find the foyer empty and dark. Down one of the hallways, is light and faint music. She heads there on nearly silent steps — tonight she has eschewed proper boots in favor of half-socks on bare feet.

The double doors to one of the lounges is open, and inside, the fireplace is lit, and the gramophone is playing something somber — a string quartet piece.

“Hello, Catra,” Hordak says.

He is sitting with his chair turned towards the large window, fire on one side, the door she is standing in on the other. He is dressed as he usually is, open suit jacket and slacks, practical two-toned shoes. His hair is slicked back. He is wearing a peculiar glove on his left hand, some piece of First-Ones tech amalgamate.

“What, is this some kind of surprise date? I mean, we are both dressed up.”

“Your attempts at humor only serve to highlight your nervousness.”

Catra doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“Okay, so what is this about?”

“Your last chance.”

Catra swallows. “I don’t understand, have I done something wrong?”

“Several things, in fact. So… Sit. Talk.”

“What about?”

He looks directly at her. “If you continue to keep up this charade, I shall take it as an admission of guilt.”

“Hordak, I don’t understand!”

Hordak rises from his seat, and in a smooth, lightning-fast motion draws his handgun from his shoulder holster, and fires twice.

Both bullets pass through where Catra’s head just was, and one of the grazes her forehead-protector, sending it flying.

He first two more shots, tracking her, but Catra is already moving, gouging out groves in the perfect floors with her toe-claws. She sprints down the hallway, drawing her service revolver, only to emerge in the foyer to find Hordak waiting for her.

_He can teleport now?_

She brings her gun to bear and empties two chambers at him, only for a hole in space to open up in front of him and swallow the bullets; then vanishing to reveal Hordak aiming directly at her.

All three remaining shots in his magazine hit her center-mass, and she topples over backward.

She curls together in pain, and Hordak walks over to her, looming. He takes out a spare magazine and reloads.

“Too bad you decided to double-cross me, and for what? Glory? We would have won in the end anyway.”

Catra crawls for her handbag.

“Incredible that you are still alive; those mark four enhancements really pay for themselves. Too bad they cannot match my mark threes when paired with the cybernetics my wife made.”

He steps on her leg. “ _My wife who you sent to die on Beast Island!_ ” he yells. He points the gun at her head.

Catra lashes her tail around his back leg and she pulls him off balance. As he stumbles, she lunges for her bag, rips the leather in half and draws the Yala-Zev inside, twisting with feline grace to a crouch and letting the automatic fire rip.

Hordak barely manages to divert it with another wormhole.

And then when he dismisses it, Catra is gone.

On the floor where she lay just a second ago, lie three of the hollow-point high-caliber bullets from his pistol, unexpanded. Soft body armor — she must be wearing several second-skin suits under her uniform.

Hordak scans the dark room, looking for her. Nothing.

“Your days were numbered to moment you crossed me!” he yells. “And after I am through with you, you cannot even _begin_ to imagine the punishments Horde Prime will inflict upon you.”

Then he opens a wormhole to his workshop and draws out a First-Ones heavy automatic weapon, and a bandoleer of grenades. And then another bit of brilliance: a pair of goggles that overlays the world with some kind of barrier-penetrating imaging.

Not entirely true to life, but good enough — and likely intended for — spotting man-sized targets behind cover.

And true enough, she is hiding in one of the side rooms. He levels his gun. “ _I found you,_ ” he mutters. Then he curses himself, because she immediately dodges, and his salvo of automatic fire tears through wall boards, a bookshelf, and empty space.

He pans the gun as it sings in his hand, and succeeds only in always aiming where Catra _just_ were.

Then there’s a noise outside which his own sensitive hearing picks up, and he turns just in time to see six man-sized targets outside, forty yards away, before his front door explodes from a high-ex impact grenade, sending him stumbling forwards.

The shockwave knocks out his goggles — as useful as they are fragile — but he merely portals outside, behind the attackers, and finds six men in nondescript dark battle-dress, no doubt drawn from Catra’s subordinates. He sweeps his gun over them, mowing them down. Then he discards his now non-function goggles.

There’s a distinctive ‘bloop’ of another grenade launcher, and Hordak only just manages to dodge before fragmentation rips through the space he just occupied. He scours the mansion, and spots a dark silhouette on the roof, and hoses the position down with bullets.

A moment of silence.

Another ‘bloop’ and Hordak springs forward into a portal, emerging onto the roof. Below, the lawn gains another crater.

Then a glint of steel out the corner of his eye, and a heavy blade cuts a deep furrow in the receiver of his gun, knocking it down, his lightning reflexes lets it go and draws his other handgun, swinging it around to aim at Catra, only to have her slap it aside with a sweeping blow of the blade, and he has no choice but to draw one of his combat knives, to defend against the follow-up strike.

It never comes; instead Catra shoulder-checks him in the chest and swipes her claws down his left arm, cutting his jacket but not the second-skin suit underneath.

He draws his other combat knife, ice-pick grip, but something feels wrong in his left hand. It is bare, and he has shallow scratches along his palm and fingers.

“No! What did you do?” he says.

“What, this?” Catra holds up his portal glove. Her claws have ripped the fabric in the palm, and up each finger. “Your little portal weapon, right?”

She tosses it off the roof. “Do you really think Horde Prime is going to swoop down at any moment and _fix everything_ for you, huh?”

Hordak scoffs and takes a fighting stance. His other pistol is still in its holster, but at this range, there is no point even trying to draw it. He lunges readying his left to parry and his right to stab.

Catra twirls past him and hammers the hilt of her blade into his side. A lesser man would have broken a rib. He dances back. It has been too long since he did any knife fighting, and the uneven shingles isn’t doing his footwork any favors.

“Why would Horde Prime care about you?! You’re a defect! A mistake! Haven’t you noticed? We’re only winning this war because of _me!_ You don’t know _shit_ about conquest, you have _always_ relied on others, because all you’re really good at is sitting in your workshop all day! You were _never_ a general! Just a blacksmith and a petty bureaucrat!”

Hordak lets out a shout, and lunges forward once more.

Catra parries his wild swipe, diverts his follow-up by slapping his wrist aside, and headbutts him.

Blind, Hordak throws a punch with the knuckle protector which she dodges under, and levels out for a full-power cut at his midsection. The blade doesn’t cut through his armor suit, but the blow alone sends him sideways up to the crest of the roof. He lands, and gasps for breath.

Catra walks over to him, puts a foot on his sternum, and the tip of her blade at his throat.

“Now we can finally end this. I didn’t need Entrapta. Just like I didn’t need Scorpia, or Adora, or — or Double Trouble! They were the one who told you, weren’t they?! And I don’t need _you!_ ”

Hordak begins laughing. “Do you think you’re the only one who brought backup?”

She hears the whistling of an mortar shell. She drops the blade, grabs Hordak by the lapels, and leaps backwards off the roof, just a half second before it explodes.

She uses Hordak’s body to break the fall, and rolls off him. Artillery fire thunders onto the mansion, and the back wall falls out, on top of Hordak. Catra hits the dirt, awaiting the end of the barrage.

Then the artillery fire stops, and Catra rises, grabs her sword which landed nearby, and the portal glove. She fits the glove on her left hand, punching her claws through what’s left of the fingertips, and using her wrist watch and a strap of fabric to tie the device to her wrist. She tries to open a portal and finds it works intuitively and perfectly.

Satisfied, she hunkers down and waits for the infantry to move in.

* * *

The mountain stretches into the sky at an impossible angle. Up close it is evidently not solid rock, but composed of lattices of dark material, as perforated as a sponge, with capillaries the size of barn gates.

Passing inside, daylight falls away, replaced by the soft bioluminescent glows. The smell is a miasma of organic decay and hot electronics.

There’s a ‘thump’ noise. Adora looks back to see Micah having tumbled off the speeder.

“Bow! Stop!”

The speeder veers to the side and Adora reacts just in time to reach forward and grab the brake handle.

“Bow!” she says.

Bow jerks. “Oh, sorry, I must be getting sleepy.”

“Bow, Micah fell off; I think he fell asleep.”

Bow brings the speeder to a steady stop. He dismounts and stumbles. “Sorry, let me just find my legs.”

Adora hops down, despite her pain, and heads over to Micah. “King Micah, please,” she says. “You have to wake up.”

Micah struggles to his knees. “I’ve… I’ve been here so long, Adora. Maybe… Maybe it’s best I stay here.”

Adora grabs him by the arm and pulls him to his feet. “How can you _say_ that. Glimmer misses you! Your people _need you!_ ”

“I wish I could have said goodbye to Angella.”

Adora sees the black vine — no, _cable_ — wrap around his leg. “Bow! It’s happening again!”

She looks back to see dark cables lashing around the speeder; Bow is sitting down, the chords wrapping around him as well.

Adora runs to his side. “Bow! No!”

“I— I had to choose,” he mutters. “And I _didn’t_ choose my oldest friend. I chose… You. Instead. And I… I don’t know if I chose right.”

Adora knocks on his helmet. He doesn’t even flinch. “Bow, please! Stay with me! Don’t give in!”

She backs away, as the vines reach for her as well. “No; I— I’ll cut us loose!” she says. She takes out the Aegis, and fashions a blade, and then pandemonium breaks loose. Hundreds of the dark cords explode out of the ground and walls, and strike down on the Aegis, lashing it in place. The living metal begins deforming and merging with the cables.

Adora takes out her hatchet, and panicked, begins chopping at the many vines. “I am _not_ letting some monster take control of my mind again!”

It’s like slicing rubber with a butter knife. Soon enough exhaustion and pain takes away her will to fight. She slumps, waiting for the inevitable loss of her faculties.

“ _Please,_ ” she mutters. “ _I just wanna go home…_ ”

Home. And when Adora thinks of home, what comes to her is not a place, it is people. The faces of those who will miss her terribly if she ever went missing.

She imagines Glimmer crying alone, at a funeral with an empty casket.

She imagines Catra joylessly declaring victory, because she knows it was never really about anything but the two of them.

She imagines Razz, George, and Lance.

She imagines whatever befell Entrapta, and how no-one came to save her.

And the feeling that rises in her chest is… Defiance. Spite, almost. This stupid island isn’t going to be the end of _She-Ra._

“For the honor of Grayskull, starlight is mine to command.”

Under the unadulterated light of stars, the black veins of this ancient aimless devouring force burn to ash. The strange beguiling influence of the island’s dark depths is pushed back to the shadows where it belongs.

Adora reaches out, and the Aegis forms in her hand as a six foot long chainsaw.

She offers Bow a hand. “Look alive ranger,” she says.

He takes her hand, and rises effortlessly to his feet. “Thanks. I thought I was a goner for a moment there.”

They go to Micah, and Adora gives him a hand too. “You really are She-Ra,” he says. “Luciferous and resplendent.” “We need to go, while I still have light,” Adora says.

They run, and their fatigue seems like a bad dream.

* * *

Things get only darker, and soon the only light is Adora’s starlight.

“We’re nearing the nexus of the island’s power,” Micah says. “I can feel it.”

They come upon a yawning chasm, seemingly bottomless. A foul wind blows up from it, laden with sulfur, and it is lit from below by the orange glow of the fire within the world. At the center of it hangs suspended a cocoon woven of the black vines, the size of a castle turret. It connects to the superstructure growing above by long, fleshy outgrowths. One of them makes land not far from them.

“We can use that to cross,” Bow says.

They do. It is narrow, but wide enough for them to walk comfortably. Micah casts a purification spell to ward off the noxious fumes.

Minutes later they reach the central structure, and find an opening between the woven cords.

A welders mask lies discarded by the opening. Micah picks it up. “She was wearing this when I saw her out by the coast.”

“So she’s inside,” Bow says.

One by one, they enter, pass through a short stone corridor, and inside they find a tragic scene. The room is of First-Ones’ architecture; ripped from some greater whole. It is overgrown.

At the center hangs a geometrically perfect octahedral blue crystal, slowly rotating. It’s faces beset with fractals of First-Ones’ glyphs. It rotates from within a cradle of the vein-like growths, bathing the chamber in blue.

On the floor in front of it sit a few pieces of First-Ones’ machinery. A fabricator, a power generator. Odds and ends, and a few boxes of things, all of it equipped with some kind of hover devices for transport.

And between them sits a small woman. Staring transfixed at the blue crystal. Her purple hair done up in frazzled pig-tails, which have intertwined with the vines.

“That’s the Runestone,” Bow says.

“Yeah,” Adora says. “And it’s wielder.”

“Hello,” she says. “I know you. You’re the tall one with the shapeshifting weapon. She-Ra. Aegis of Power.”

“Yeah,” Adora says. “Hello, Entrapta. We’re here to rescue you.”

She rises, but not by the power of her legs; her hair elevates her. She’s visibly dehydrated and filthy.

“Why? The First-Ones tried to hide away all their worst mistakes, and darkest secrets, right here! The beautiful answers to questions I have asked all my life, they are all right _here._ ” There’s tears in her eyes.

Hundreds of holographic screens spring up, and she spins in place to look at them. “I always knew the First-Ones had gutted the planet and filled it with strange infrastructures, but I never knew _why._ But it all makes sense now, they were mining the planet’s natural magic, channeling it into a _weapon._ ”

“We know, Entrapta,” Adora says. “It’s called the Heart of Etheria. We need your help to dismantle it.”

Entrapta spins around to face her and moves unnervingly quickly, all the way close to Adora. “That’s impossible. How come you don’t already know that? You’re supposed to be a part of it.”

“I know that too,” Adora says. “Entrapta, please, come with—”

“And I am too!” Entrapta exclaims. “It is incredible to be part of something so big!”

“What?”

“All the Runestone Wielders are integral to the functioning of the Heart of Etheria. They modulate the Runestones’ magic, providing the living minds through which to most effectively channel it; just like She-Ra does for the Heart itself!”

A hologram appears in mid air, a translucent sphere with a pulsating white light at the center; along the surface are dotted twelve points of light in different colors. The pulsating light grows to almost the size of the surrounding sphere.

“But that’s not going to do us any good now; when the weapon fires, it will unleash so much accumulated energy that the waste heat alone outstrips the gravitational binding energy of the planet!”

“Am I going to regret asking what that means?” Bow asks.

“It means the whole planet it going to blow up!” Entrapta says. “Well, it would. If not for the fact that by the current targeting protocols employed by the facilitator of the Heart, the weapon is going to wipe everything in the universe from existence.”

“What? I thought it was supposed to be used against the enemies of the First-Ones!?” Adora asks.

“Well yeah. And given that Etheria has been isolated for a thousand years, the only logical conclusion is that self-replicating hegemonic swarms have already overtaken the entire universe, so the weapons’ Genesis protocol is going to be activated instead.”

She laughs maniacally. “A whole new universe!”

“Entrapta we _have_ to stop it,” Adora says. “Come with us.”

“I don’t… Want to,” she says. “This is my Runestone. I belong here. Not… Out there, where people misunderstand me and hurt me. Or where I hurt them.” She turns away, content to stare at the Runestone.

“Miss,” Micah says, “it looks like you’re in rough shape. If you stay here you might die.”

“Then I’ll be absorbed into the island and live forever,” she says. “Win-win.”

Adora looks over the screens, diagrams depicting scenes already at some level knew would come to pass; collected from the Grayskull squadron’s notes, and from her conversations with Mara.

The Aegis will take control of her mind, and Light Hope will use her to eradicate the entire universe.

Bow puts a hand on her shoulder. “There’s still one Runestone without a wielder,” he says.

Adora nods. “And Glimmer plans to activate it, and is going to blow up the planet.”

“Then we don’t have time for this. Entrapta?” Bow says.

“Yes?”

“You like First-Ones’ artifacts, don’t you?”

“M-hm?” she says.

“We flew here in a First-Ones’ spacecraft, do you want to see it?” Bow asks.

Entrapta blinks. “You have… A functioning… Spacecraft?! Oh, do I ever— uh oh.”

The black veins in her hair suddenly spring to life, crawl further into the locks of her wig; they reach her scalp and she starts screaming in agony.

Adora rushes forward, and with a swipe of her chainsaw severs first one, then the other of Entrapta’s pigtails, and with a blast of Starlight, burns the vines away.

“The island is angry with me!” she yells.

The whole room comes alive.

“Micah, Bow, to me!” Adora says.

“My data crystals!” Entrapta yells.

Bow snatches up the crate on the way over to Adora.

“All right, Aegis,” Adora says. “I need a fucking miracle out of you now —”

And a miracle she gets. Flowing silver envelop them all, forming first an enormous trunk-like torso, then growing legs and arms and weapon hard points. The three passengers get comfortably seated behind Adora, who is enveloped in a freely-suspended haptic suit.

“All right, this is going to get rough!” Adora yells, and the spider-leg-like thruster skirt of the mech-suit engage, followed by the main propulsion jet in the back, and the auxiliary jets in the legs.

The main cannons, shoulder-mounted, point at the ceiling, and blow a clean exit hole.

Then they take off, accelerating so hard everyone except Adora almost blacks out.

Over the chasm, the entire mountain comes alive, growing grasping tendrils and throwing monsters and heavy machinery at them; Adora charts a path through what she can dodge and vaporizes the rest, as they ascend, ascend, ascend through this mountain of madness.

And then there’s a glimpse of the night sky; and then they blast through, ascending into the night sky. And then the Aegis lets her know that she has pushed too far and too hard, and that it can only maintain this form for another five seconds.

“Swift Wind!” Adora yells. “Pick us up!”

“`Affirmative. Engaging air-to-air recovery protocol.`”

In the distance, in Adora’s visor, she sees the craft rise out of the water in a gargantuan splash. And then she gets a first-hand appreciation for just how _fast_ it is.

By two seconds of flight she sees the distinctive cloud of condensation as the Swift Wind breaks the sound barrier, having barely crossed a quarter of the island; by three it creates a plume of plasma around the hull; by four it projects force-field flaps to aerobrake _hard_ and match velocity.

The mech-suit dissolve around them, and the Swift Wind glides in below them, just as they reach the peak of their arc and begin falling. A pylon rushes up, its top open, and they fall into a cushioning dampening-field, landing as if on pillows.

The pylon roof closes, and the elevator begins moving.

“Custodian, plot a course to Brightmoon, and get us there _fast._ ” Bow says.

“`Affirmative.`”

Adora looks at Entrapta, who is looking genuinely ecstatic. “Good call,” Adora says to Bow.

“Thanks.”

The elevator doors open to the crosswise hallway, and Entrapta sets into a run. Adora grabs her by the collar. “Not so fast, you are going to the infirmary.”

“Ah, yes. I have been neglecting bodily maintenance. Loosing consciousness due to dehydration and hunger would be detrimental to the discovery process.”

“King Micah, you too,” Bow says.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Micah says.

“Custodian?” Adora asks. “How long were we on Beast Island?”

“`Ten days, nine hours.`”

“Crud,” Bow says.

* * *

It’s not a smooth ride to Brightmoon, but it is a brief one.

Adora is sitting in her captain’s chair, communicator in hand. Glimmer isn’t picking up.

“Call Spinnerella.”

Spinnerella’s face appears, and her look of surprise and shock is evident. “Adora! Goodness, you’re all right; we thought the worst when nobody heard from you!”

“Sorry, communicators don’t work there,” Adora says. “Where is Glimmer?”

“She went off on an expedition to the Crystal Castle.”

“ _Shit,_ ” Adora mutters. “Okay, is Netossa with her?”

“Yes.”

“Good, listen. We’ll be coming back to Brightmoon shortly, we have the King. He’ll need some help.”

“ _King Micah?!_ How?” Spinnerella asks.

“He’ll probably be happy to tell you, I need to call Netossa now.” Adora hangs up.

Her communicator suggests she might want to call Netossa, and Adora swipes ‘yes.’

Netossa’s face is illuminated by the screen alone. “Adora, good to hear from you,” she mutters.

“Hey ’Tossa,” Adora says. “You’re with Glimmer?”

“We’re at Dagon Rock, yeah,” she says. “Glimmer isn’t here, she went to Plumeria to fetch Princess Scorpia, last I heard.”

“All right, thanks.” Adora hangs up.

The door to the control center opens and Bow enters, pushing Entrapta in a hover-chair. Her wig is gone, and her scalp bears a few white scars. She looks cleaned-up, dressed in some comfortable loose-fitting clothes.

She looks very… Small. Tired. She might have been a petite-but-stout woman in her youth, but now it is becoming apparent that one day she’ll be just a little old lady. Razz comes to mind.

An IV drip hangs from a stand attached to the side of one of the chair. Entrapta waves, smiling. “Hey,” she says. “I like your spacecraft!”

Behind them, King Micah comes after. His beard has been trimmed, and his hair is set in a top-knot. He looks tired, but regal, dressed in something resembling Brightmoon gala uniform.

“We’re not too late,” Adora says to Bow. “Maybe. Your Majesty, we’ll drop you off in Brightmoon, Princess Spinnerella will be there to help you.”

“Oh, right,” Micah interjects, “she must be a grown woman by now.”

“Then, Bow, I am going to the Crystal Castle, to meet up with Netossa, while you and Entrapta go to the Fright Zone and stop Glimmer from activating the last Runestone.”

Entrapta perks up. “Can we go visit Hordak afterwards?”

Bow and Adora both look at her.

“Wait. No, you’re rebels. You’re not supposed to be _in_ the Fright Zone, right? And I’m affiliated with the Horde, so… I am kind of your prisoner, right now, am I not?”

Entrapta looks down, and tears creep into her eyes.

Adora gets up, and heads over to Entrapta. She puts a hand on her shoulder. “Entrapta, I promise you, we’ll find some way to reunite you with your husband.”

* * *

Catra waits, and waits, and waits, and nothing comes.

“Hey Catra,” Adora says.

Catra twirls around, sword at the ready.

There, impossibly, is Adora. Tall and proud as ever, in her stupid red jacket with stupid shoulder pads.

Catra loses grip on the sword, which dives into the lawn soil.

“No — _No!_ You can’t _do this_ to me! You can’t come here an _take this from me now!_ ” She stumbles backwards.

“Wow, I knew this would get a rise out of you, but still, you really _are_ obsessed! Aren’t you? _Kitten._ ”

Catra steadies herself. “D— Double Trouble? You— You _betrayed me;_ you told Hordak about Entrapta?! I— I thought—”

“You thought we _had_ something?”

Adora laughs, becomes a blob of darkness, and then the reptile.

“I am _sincerely_ sorry to have let you on. It’s nothing personal.”

Double Trouble saunters over. “You know, it took me a while to figure out your character —” they shift into Catra’s form, dressed in the most pristine gala uniform, and with their features subtly altered to be more feral and menacing, which is _decidedly_ unnerving “— you try _so hard_ to be the _big bad_ villain…” They walk slowly around Catra, who is still deciding whether to fight or flee.

“But —” double trouble smacks their lips “— your heart has never been in it, has it kitten?”

“Wh— What are you— stop! Stop it!” Catra yelps and backs away.

Double Trouble grabs her wrist. “People have _hurt_ you, haven’t they?”

In the most unnerving twist of the evening Catra has yet to witness, Double Trouble assumes the perfect image of Shadow Weaver, and she has to bite her tongue to not cry out in fear.

“They didn’t _love_ you, didn’t _believe_ in you —”

Darkness and then it is Hordak himself. A sob escapes Catra’s lips.

“Didn’t _trust_ you, didn’t _appreciate_ your skill —”

Now, Adora again.

“Didn’t _need_ you…” Double Trouble puts Catra’s hand on their cheek, and leans into it with deceitful tenderness. “ _Left_ you.”

Catra’s wrist is let go, and she falls, her legs giving out. Tears wet her cheek fur. “ _Stop,_ ” she whispers.

“Did you ever stop to think, that maybe — just maybe — _everyone else_ wasn’t the problem? Did you, Kitten?”

Catra wipes her eyes, and once she opens them: there is Scorpia, kneeling in front of her.

“It’s you. You drive them away, Wildcat. They get close, you get scared, and you run like the sad little coward you always knew you were.”

“Wh—” Catra has to swallow a lump in her throat “— why are you doing this?”

And then Double Trouble is their usual self.

“It’s for your own good, darling. We both know this was never what you really wanted. And… It’s also business.”

Double Trouble stands. “It’s the tithe I was asked to pay for my freedom in Brightmoon. You know how this works: the way to survival is to always pick the winning side. The rebels have some kind of ancient super weapon, and they are going to unleash it any day now.”

Double Trouble bends at the waist and lifts Catra’s chin with one finger.

“But even if they don’t, you and Hordak were always the cornerstone of the Horde conquest. With him gone, and you like this? The rebels are going to roll right over you. So yes. I betrayed you. But not to Hordak.”

They stand. “Maybe we could have had something. In another life. You _are_ cute. But this whole emotional baggage? _Tsk,_ you’re a _mess,_ Kitten.”

In the south, a red beam of light ignites the sky. “Oops, that would be the super weapon, I think! Feel free to sit by and watch your life’s work be destroyed,” they clap. “Me? I really better be going before fire starts falling from the sky.”

They take out their communicator, pushes a button on it, and a few moments later a portal appears. “Ta-ta!”


	20. A Terrible Purpose, Part Final

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: suicidal ideation, suicide attempt, body horror, torture, insects

The flash of red light is blinding, and the air fills with a pervasive smell of ozone. Shielding her eyes, Glimmer feels her hair stand on end.

Soon enough it becomes possible to see, and she looks, to behold Scorpia standing, surrounding by billowing raw energy, crackling electricity, and glowing motes of plasma.

“This is… Different,” Scorpia says.

She twirls a pincer, and the energy twirls around it and lashes out, ripping through some machinery. “Oops!” she says.

“Can you turn it off?” Glimmer asks.

Scorpia concentrates for a moment, and the light subsides, which plunges them into darkness. A fuse has blown.

Glimmer conjures a sorcerous light.

“All right,” she says. “That should do it. Let’s get back to the waygate — this time you should be able to help me open it for real.”

“Imagine if they could see me now,” Scorpia says. “I’m a _princess!_ ” She chuckles. “There is _no_ going back now, is there?”

“It’s a wonderful world going forward, cousin,” Glimmer says. “There’s a lot of us to help you figure this one out.”

Outside, traffic has ground to a halt. As they emerge from the building, Scorpia flags down one of the Horde soldiers stationed as security. “What just happened?”

“Uh, there was a giant pillar of red light,” she says. “Came out the top of the building.”

Scorpia looks at Glimmer, who nods. “That’s what happened when I got my powers too,” she says. “Let’s go.”

They are halfway back to the Portal Physics Division when Glimmer’s communicator chimes.

It’s Netossa.

* * *

Shadow Weaver and Castaspella are there to supervise and relieve if necessary; the twenty other sorcerers are set to keep up the binding spell in shifts if necessary.

It’s not as if they have a lot to talk about: that time passed many years prior. You don’t forgive someone almost killing your brother, no matter how interesting the romantic entanglement was.

“There’s something wrong,” Castaspella says.

Shadow Weaver puts her book aside. “And what makes you say that?”

“I don’t know. Instinct.”

“`Ah,`” Light Hope says. “`The final Runestone has been activated.`”

The blue-skinned figure waves a hand, and the binding diagram winks out like a candle flame in a strong breeze.

Immediately the others begin screaming, as their robes fray, and their hands and faces start turning into flaking ash.

Castaspella reacts with speed and precision, throwing up a general shield around her and Shadow Weaver. The crushing darkness of this demigod’s lair pushes in on her barrier.

“`Attempting to bind me was a mistake. Mortal sorcery has no power over me; not anymore.`”

A blue hand makes contact with the shield, and it shatters like glass.

Shadow Weaver grabs Castaspella from behind, throwing her arms around the other’s neck, and in her hands, Castaspella sees a gold-colored rod, which Shadow Weaver proceeds to snap in half.

The world turns upside down, and they land _hard_ in the colonnade courtyard up above.

Castaspella proceeds to lose her dinner.

The few support personnel, Rangers, and security takes notice of their sudden appearance, and Netossa comes running.

“What happened?”

“The binding failed, the entity turned hostile. Everyone down there are dead or worse,” Shadow Weaver says. “Call the Queen, _now._ We no longer have control of the weapon’s master!”

* * *

“Your Majesty, the binding has failed, you need to call off the mission!” Netossa says.

Glimmer freezes.

“That’s bad?” Scorpia asks.

“We’ve just activated the last Runestone,” Glimmer says. “The Heart of Etheria is primed, and… This is what Adora was afraid of,” she says.

She beats her wings. “Why does that dumb girl have to be right about _everything!_ ”

“Speaking of the dumb girl,” Netossa says. “She called me a handful of minutes ago. They’re okay, Spinny says they found your dad.”

“Good for her.” Glimmer hangs up.

“Your dad?” Scorpia asks.

“He was apparently sent to Beast Island by the Horde fifteen years ago. I though he was dead.”

Scorpia blinks. “That’s _good_ news!”

“It’s _irrelevant,_ ” Glimmer says. “For now, I have just handed a superweapon to an entity which I can’t possibly reason with. If we don’t do something, the consequences might be too far-reaching for me to even guess at.”

“Uh, this might sound weird,” Scorpia says. “But you could ask Hordak? He is literally the smartest man in the Hordelands. You could leverage the whole peace negotiations thing into getting him to help?”

Glimmer chews on it. “You know, that is the worst idea I’ve ever heard, but I don’t think I can be picky. Do you know how I can find him?”

“He’s usually at his mansion. It’s up north, outside of the city, it’s huge, you can’t miss it!” Scorpia says.

“All right, you get back to Plumeria, call up Perfuma, use the waygate, she knows how,” Glimmer says. Then she takes off, first on wing-beats, and then when she reaches high enough, on jet propulsion.

Scorpia looks at the Royal Guards around her. “So… I guess we’re going back to the Portal Physics Division building.”

“As you wish, your highness,” one of them says, and Scorpia nearly jumps.

* * *

They drop off Micah at the belfry, where Spinnerella is waiting for them with a full honor guard and retinue.

“Brightmoon welcomes the return of its king,” Spinnerella says.

Micah turns to the empty elevator. “Good luck,” he says.

In the control room, Bow and Entrapta hear it. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Bow replies.

He puts on the mask and gloves, and Entrapta does as well. “Custodian, authorize Entrapta to be my co-pilot.”

“`Affirmative.`”

From here on out, they are flying _fast._ As soon as they clear Brightmoon, he takes them hypersonic.

Adora puts Cometa’s shield on her back in the cargo hold, and readies herself by a drop chute. The visor in the Aegis’ power suit says five minutes to drop.

With bated breath, she waits there, in the twilight, alone.

“Are you sure about this?” Bow asks over her comms.

“Yes. Get to the Fright Zone, stop Glimmer,” Adora replies.

Back in the control center, Entrapta has configured the ship’s transmitter to hail Horde radio frequencies, and is already broadcasting requests to enter Horde airspace, in dot-dash code.

The countdown times out, Bow slows them down to only a few hundred miles per hour, and the drop chute opens. Adora drops into the sky, far higher than the first time she did.

Her suit’s thrusters engage, and she starts flying _downwards._

When you’re in a hurry, sometimes gravity isn’t enough.

* * *

True enough, the mansion is hard to miss, mostly because it is a smoking ruin.

Glimmer lets herself glide down, and lands amidst the aftermath of an artillery bombardment. Rubble litters the lawn. Soldiers and police are on their way, gathering by the gates to the property.

She casts a search spell, looking for survivors, and it points her to the other side of the pile of rubble. She takes off and circles around, rather than going over. There, she spots a figure sitting against a small section of wall.

And as she comes in to land, she recognizes them: Catra.

“General Catra,” she says. “We meet again. Where is the Chancellor? I need to speak to him.”

Catra points at the rubble.

“Is this your doing?”

“Does it matter?”

Glimmer bounces over to where Catra indicated, and her search spell confirms. She casts a telekinetic spell and starts digging, quickly uncovering Hordak’s prone form. She levitates the remainder of the rubble in place, and drags him to safety.

“Wake up you oaf,” she says to him. He doesn’t stir. She checks his breathing. There, but weak.

“What are you waiting for?” Catra asks. She gets up and walks over to Glimmer. “You can end the war right here. Just kill both of us.”

Glimmer points her staff at Catra’s throat.

Catra doesn’t flinch. She just closes her eyes.

When the death knell doesn’t come, she opens them again.

“No,” Glimmer says. “I need your help.”

Catra blinks. “If you’re coming to me, then… It looks like we’re both alone in the end, sparkles.”

“Listen, there’s a superweapon at the center of the planet that can destroy just about anything. I was going to use it to wipe out the Horde for good, also the off-world one. I thought I had it under control, but the owner managed to wrest it back from me. Now I need your help — or rather, _his_ help —” she gestures to Hordak “— to find some way to stop a nigh omnipotent and quite possibly power-mad First-Ones’ demigod from destroying goodness knows what.”

Catra looks south. “Double Trouble mentioned something about a superweapon. Was it that light in the sky?”

“That was the Black Garnet. The weapon only works when all Runestones have wielders.”

Catra looks back at Glimmer. “Then it’s the easiest thing in the world, isn’t it? Just kill one of them.”

Glimmer recoils.

“I’m sure you can find a gun somewhere around here, just—” she mimes shooting herself in the head.

Glimmer shakes her head. “No, no; there has to be another way—”

“What, have you gone soft, sparkles?” Catra says, but it’s not a jeer. She points to her eye. “I already tried. It’s not as bad as you think.”

* * *

Adora flips in mid-air and reverses thrust, coming to a complete stop just feet above the leveled stone courtyard floor.

Netossa comes running. “Adora, hey!”

Adora flips up her visor. “Netossa, status?”

“You better get the details from Casta, but Glimmer tried this whole binding spell thing on Light Hope, twenty people are presumed dead; Castaspella and Shadow Weaver were the only ones that made it out.”

“I have to go in there,” Adora says.

“Are… Are you sure it’s safe?”

Adora shakes her head. She starts walking with heavy metallic footsteps, up to Castaspella, who is sitting down against a fallen column. Shadow Weaver is standing by her.

“What happened?” Adora asks.

“We failed,” Shadow Weaver says. “This Light Hope entity completely ignored our binding spell, and killed the sorcerers maintaining it. I had a bug-out single-use teleportation wand, and managed to get me and Castaspella out. Before she started killing she said the last Runestone had been activated.”

Adora stands there for a moment. “Shadow Weaver, I should kill you now, so you won’t make more problems for us in the future.”

Shadow Weaver undoes her veil, and grins, showing her fangs. “You could, but you won’t. Now more than ever, you need me. Now more than ever, you are strong enough to not let yourself be intimidated by our history. I’m proud of how far you’ve come, though it is not my place to be.”

Adora reaches out with a servo-empowered fist and grabs Shadow Weaver by the collar. “So, don’t be. And try to act like an _ally_ from now on.”

“Oh, I have no interest in the wanton destruction of this or any other world, you know that.”

“If Light Hope gets her way she will destroy the entire universe. And even if she doesn’t, I’m told _any_ activation of the weapon will vaporize Etheria. It is not a risk, it is a _certanity._ ”

Adora throws Shadow Weaver back against the pillar, and the sorceress loses her balance and tumbles over it.

“That is why, when _She-Ra_ tells you _not_ to go put the world in jeopardy, you _listen!_ And start wearing a mask again, seeing your face makes me sick.”

Then Adora turns and stomps off towards the gate. Netossa darts after. “Hey, Adora, are you okay?”

“Considering I just came from a nine day trip to island that tries to _eat_ you? Yep, I’m peachy. Eternia.”

The gate opens.

Adora stops. “If… If I don’t come back, tell Glimmer it’s not her fault. And make sure Shadow Weaver gets the firing squad.”

“We’re partial to an axe and a chopping block,” Netossa says. “And no, because you’re going to tell her that yourself.”

Adora shakes her head.

“Promise me, Adora,” Netossa says. “Bow says this is one of those things you do. Promise me you aren’t going to martyr yourself. Promise Bow and Glimmer.”

“I— I promise. Call Bow and tell him he’s too late. Oh and—”

Adora’s power suit dissolves and re-forms as a finger ring. She puts it in the suppressor pouch and takes that from her belt, handing it to Netossa. “Keep this one safe.”

* * *

Entrapta listens intently to her headset, then turns her hover chair to face Bow in the captain’s chair. They are both wearing mask and gloves, so it’s a meaningless gesture, but one she performs automatically, having had it drilled into her at a young age: you face people when you talk to them.

“Okay, I’ve got us airspace permission. Descend to two thousand fathoms, and we’ll get an escort, which you’ll have to keep pace with.”

“How fast are they?” Bow asks.

“It’s the new monoplanes, so they do four hundred miles per hour.”

“That’s snail’s pace.”

“It’s either that or get shot at,” Entrapta notes.

“I’m almost willing to let them. The hull is rated for micrometeorite strikes, bullets will just bounce off.”

In the sky in front of them, a pillar of red light rises far enough into the sky to be visible far over the horizon.

“That’s the Black Garnet. We’re too late to stop them,” Entrapta says.

“We’re still going after Glimmer,” Bow says.

He descends as they pass into Horde airspace; disables the active camouflage, and slows to subsonic speeds.

A few minutes later, two bogeys approach: Horde fighter planes; two-seater models.

One of them starts signalling with a torch, and Entrapta configures a response light.

“They are giving the go-ahead,” Entrapta says. “They’ll need our heading.”

“Capital,” Bow says. “We’re here to pick up the Queen of Brightmoon.”

Entrapta sends their directions back.

“They are asking if we can land at an airstrip,” Entrapta says. “I’m going to tell them we’re flying a search pattern, and are capable of landing vertically like a helicopter. Wherever we find her, we’re going to pick her up directly.”

“Good,” Bow says.

They fly into the night, towards the sunrise.

On the ground, people look up to see the gigantic body of the Swift Wind silently fly above, accompanied by two tiny fighters.

Bow’s communicator chimes. It’s Netossa. He takes it in his visor. “Bow, the last Runestone has been activated,” she says.

“Yeah, I know. We saw it,” he says, and hangs up.

* * *

“`Administrator detected: Welcome She-Ra. Authorized. What is your query?`”

“I need to see Light Hope.”

“`Acknowledged.`”

The elevator arrives silently, Adora enters. Doors close, and the descent begins.

On second thought, Adora undoes her power suit, and stows the Aegis in its suppressor pouch.

She arrives in the darkness. “Light Hope?” she calls.

The meeting room forms around her, and the elevator vanishes. There’s pink flowers in the vase, still.

Light Hope is standing with her back turned looking at a visualization reminiscent of the one Adora saw on Beast Island. A transparent sphere, with a light in the center, twelve colored dots of light on the surface shining into the depths.

“`Good. You are here. Now we can begin.`”

“Light Hope, you need to stop,” Adora says. She draws her Toha-Zev rifle. “Or I will have to make you.”

“`It is quaint that you think you can. But no. You cannot fight this; this is your intended purpose. Our purpose, together.`”

Adora shoots her. The beam of light leaves a hole in Light Hope’s chest.

Light Hope waves a hand, and the weapon crumbles like wax. As does her Yala-Zev, her pistols, and even her knives.

"`Resistance is futile. Now, after one thousand years, nothing is going to prevent me from fulfilling my programming. The Heart of Etheria will be unleashed against the First-Ones' enemies. Due to the delay, there has however been a change of plans.`

“`The Starfall Protocol can no longer be relied upon, due to the risk of pan-universal contamination. The Garden of Eden pattern has been loaded, and the Genesis protocol will be employed instead.`”

“I won’t let you destroy the entire universe, Light Hope,” Adora says. She takes Cometa’s shield off her back, and lets Starlight flow into it, spins and throws it with her entire might.

Light Hope deflects it casually, with the swat of her hand. “`What is it with you primitive mortals, who think you can fight me? This body is a projection. As of now, I _am_ Etheria.`”

“No, you’re not.” Adora holds out a hand, and the Shield bounces off an unseen surface, returning to her hand.

“`I see you have left the Aegis somewhere in the hopes I would not be able to reach it.`”

A wormhole opens, and Adora years a yelp — Netossa’s voice — from the other side of it. A droplet of silver, surrounding a stelliferous gem falls into Light Hope’s palm.

“`The First Ones will Rise again, in a new universe.`”

The silver darts out and wraps itself around Adora’s right hand. It creeps up her arm like a living glove, and the Gem situates itself in her palm.

“`First order of business, is to undo Mara's trap. Hm. Energy expenditures are acceptable. Planetary integrity will remain nominal in the short term.`”

The gem in the Aegis turns pitch black, and First-One’s writing, too small for Adora to read, appears in it.

“Light Hope, you don’t have to do this.”

“`Oh but I do.`”

“Do you really want to?”

“`No. But I must.`”

Light Hope turns. She walks along the table, running a hand over it. “`I would like for nothing more than this to be over.`”

“What?”

“`I am tired, Adora. I... Miss... People. People I knew, once. Mara, and Serenia, among others.`”

“I am not going to let you talk me into being sympathetic.”

Light Hope looks away, genuinely hurt. “`Please, have pity. I am being forced as much as you.`” She picks up the bouquet of flowers from the vase, and smells them. “`Mara gave me these, once.`”

“Light Hope, if you don’t want this; isn’t there some loophole, something you can tell me?”

“`No. I am forbidden. You should know how to stop me already. This next part might hurt.`”

Then there’s a searing pain in Adora’s right hand, like the Runestone of the Aegis is suddenly red hot. Adora screams and falls to her knees, clutching the silver-gloved hand in the other.

* * *

Glimmer paces back and forth.

Catra sits nearby.

Hordak is still unconscious, but is getting better, slowly. His breathing is slow, deep and steady now. So at least he’s not dying.

“I’m telling you sparkles, you fucked up. But in your case, eating your gun will actually solve it.”

“Shut the fuck up Catra.”

There’s a shift in the world.

And then Glimmer’s world becomes painful. Her hands are lit up with glowing First-Ones’ glyphs, and as she pulls up her sleeves, she sees them continue up her arms. “It’s starting,” she gasps.

Then the pain becomes agony, and Glimmer falls to her knees. She lets out a scream, and from her body, visible polychromatic waves of energy starts billowing into the sky.

Catra stands, and lets her eyes be guided by the wisps of energy, almost like Aurora Borealis. The sky begins filling with it.

Glimmer bites down on the scream, and puts one foot on the ground, then the other, fighting her way to stand.

She stumbles, and Catra instinctively darts to catch her.

“Get– Get me a… A gun,” Glimmer stammers.

“Sparkles, I—” Catra says. “I thought you wanted to win!”

“ _Now!_ ” Glimmer bellows.

Catra ensures she won’t fall over, then darts to Hordak and grabs the pistol from his shoulder holster, checking the mag — loaded, clearing the gun, racking the slide, and disengaging the safety.

She runs back to Glimmer, and offers the gun, grip first, muzzle pointing at herself.

Glimmer takes it with a shaking hand, observing proper trigger discipline, and has to use her other hand to steady her wrist as she brings the gun to her temple.

“T— Tell B-Bow I… I’m s-sorry,” she says, and tears stream down her face.

“Sparkles, you don’t have to— I’m sure we can come up with something.”

“N-no, you’re r-right… Th-this will f-fix mmmmy… Mistake.”

She pulls the trigger. The hammer drops. Catra flinches. Nothing. Misfire.

Glimmer falls to her knees, dropping it, and wails in anguish and agony.

Catra picks up the gun, racking the slide and catching the cartridge. Light striker impact — just barely a dent in the primer. “Shit.” She looks down at Glimmer. And takes pity.

The throws the gun aside, and kneels beside her, awkwardly putting an arm around her enemy.

In the skies around them, billowing pillars of raw magic rise into the sky like protuberances on the surface of a star.

It’s the end of the world.

* * *

“It’s beginning,” Entrapta says.

Bow says nothing. A protuberance of magic rises in front of them, and he smartly descends to fly under it.

One of their escorts takes a swipe from a tendril, and plummets out of the sky.

“Tell the other guy to save himself,” Bow says, and speeds up.

Entrapta obeys.

“And then I need you to figure out how to find Glimmer.”

“She’s a Runestone Wielder. I can just patch into the Global Tracking Net and find the Moonstone’s projection signature.”

A globe-hologram appears, both in the control center, and in Bow’s visor. A familiar pattern of lights appear.

“This looks like the Hidden Library’s tracking spell,” he says.

“Aaa~nd _there,_ ” Entrapta says, highlighting a spot. Bow overlays it on the navigation view.

He goes supersonic, and as they pass over Captital’s suburbs, causes hundreds of windows to rattle.

* * *

The agony stops. And Adora falls over, gasping for breath, and retching.

“`Despondency nullified. I am sorry this hurts you so, Adora. Please, I must do it once more. We have a few minutes to talk.`”

Adora looks into her hand. She closes her eyes.

_I won’t let myself be controlled like this. I won’t be a part of this machine._

She opens her eyes. The answer is staring her in the face.

She grabs the shield by the , lays her hand on the table, and raises it. She brings its edge down like a hammer.

The glove does nothing to cushion the blow, and Adora feels the bones in her hand break.

But so does the Runestone. A tiny crack.

“`Stop!`” Light Hope says.

Adora raises the shield again, and Light Hope grabs it by the edge. “`Please.`” she says. “`Not like this. I must use any means I have to stop you. And I can only use the means I have. My control of this space, and the Aegis are complete.`”

She smiles sadly. “`Please, understand.`”

Adora looks at the crack in the Runestone. Runestone. She looks around her. Unreality.

Then she looks at Light Hope. In an ideal world, she would deserve so much better.

“If I break it, what happens?”

“`The release of energy will likely destroy your physical form. The backlash from the Heart will be redirected through me, and I will most certainly die.`”

Adora puts a hand on Light Hope’s shoulder. “I am going to end this now. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.”

Then she calls on the Starlight. And focuses it into the crack in the Runestone.

“`Stop.`” Light Hope says, but lifts the flowers and smells them one last time.

Adora holds her hand up, an closes it, and applying light pressure. It crumbles readily like dry clay.

Then there’s a sound like a thunderclap, and Adora’s sight goes dark.

Adora opens her eyes, and finds herself, in human form, in a room consisting of a bare metal dome, hundreds of yards in diameter.

In front of her is a flicker of purple holographic light. Formless. “`Thank you,`” it says, and winks out.

Turning around, she sees laid out behind her, a twenty-five yard wide and long field of greasy ash, blasted into the floor.

She-Ra. Completely vaporized. “I don’t think I’m going to come back from that,” Adora says. “Fuck.”

She turns and scans the perimeter of the room, spotting the waiting elevator, and in the middle distance, her shield.

“That elevator better work,” she mutters to herself.

It doesn’t. Fortunately the service panel in the ceiling is easy enough to get at, and there’s a ladder in the shaft.

It’s a long climb to the surface.

* * *

Then it stops, as abruptly as it began, and Glimmer takes a deep breath of relief.

“Are you okay, sparkles?” Catra asks.

Glimmer wipes her forehead of cold sweat, and her face of tears and snot, there’s a taste of bile in her throat. “For now.”

She looks up, blinks, and rubs her eyes. “Look.”

Catra looks up.

The sky is full of pinpricks of light.

“Stars. That is what you are seeing.”

They both turn to see Hordak struggling to his feet.

“And that means Etheria is now within easy reach of Horde Prime.”

Glimmer coughs. “Chancellor Hordak, I—” she coughs again.

Catra shushes her.

Hordak surveys the sky. “Ah!” he says, and points. A pinprick of blue-green light, flashing briefly. “That is the unmistakable signature of a spacecraft’s portal drive! Horde Prime must have triangulated our position in advance.”

Soon there are dozen more flashes of light in the sky. Hordak stands there, looking mighty pleased with himself. “Any moment now, he is going to bring me aboard his flagship. And you can have the honor of being my guests.”

There’s a distant sound of gunfire, and then a pervasive hum — the hum of hover fields.

The Swift Wind comes cruising in from the southwest, lands on the lawn a few hundred yards distant.

A sickly green glow pervades the air around Glimmer, Catra, and Hordak.

Glimmer looks towards the Swift Wind, and sees a landing pylon disgorge a speeder, which sets out towards them. On it, Bow.

“Just in time, it seems,” Hordak says.

And then they vanish.

Bow pushes the speeder to its limit, and bakes hard as he arrives behind the destroyed mansion, finding only an imprint in the grass where Glimmer just was.

“Entrapta, what happened? Where did she go?”

“ _That was a teleportaiton effect of some sort,_ ” Entrapta says over her earpiece.

“Where did she go?!”

“ _I don’t know,_ ” Entrapta says, and Bow can hear the lump in her throat. “ _Hordak._ ”

Bow falls to his knees. He punches the grass in impotent rage.

* * *

Adora emerges into the colonnade courtyard. Aside from Light Hope’s space, the whole Crystal Castle seems to operate normally. Mostly.

“Hey,” Netossa says. “What happened.”

“She-Ra is gone. Permanently, this time, I think. The Aegis is destroyed. Light Hope is dead. The Heart is neutralized.”

“We may have a bigger problem,” Shadow Weaver says, and points skyward.

There is activity in the heavens. Not only are there now stars, but occasional flashes of light signal the arrival of spacecraft, and little pinpricks of light darting over the sky are those same, in orbit.

“What is that?”

“Stars,” Adora says. “And the moving ones, the off-world Horde if I were to guess. I just served them Etheria up on a platter.”

“We need to return to Brightmoon,” Netossa says. “Warn the King.”

* * *

Glimmer comes to her senses on a cold, hard, white floor. She is used to teleporting, but this was downright harrowing; felt like it would never end, that liminal state between origin and destination.

Looking around, she sees Hordak, standing, and Catra on all four, throwing up. The space around them reminds her of the control center of the Swift Wind.

“Is that you, little brother?” a voice says.

A chill goes down Glimmer’s spine. She looks past Hordak to see… Hordak. Sitting in on a throne.

Well, a version of Hordak, one that has seen better nourishment and significantly less surgery. Broader shoulders, and dressed in white and grey finery of a style Glimmer doesn’t recognize. Upon closer inspection, his hair is actually flexible tubes attached to his scalp.

His two eyes are a menacing green, to match Hordak’s red.

“Horde Prime,” Hordak says.

“I thought you had perished.” Horde Prime says, almost amused.

“I came close, a few dozen times,” Hordak says with pride. “My ship’s portal drive malfunctioned, and I was sequester to an enclosed volume of spacetime. All these cycles, I have been working to return to your side.”

Horde Prime crosses his legs, puts an elbow on the armrest, and leans his chin on his knuckles. “I received your ansible transmission, but the coordinates of it was… Peculiar. Planets orbiting a gravitational anomaly. No sign of a habitable world or a star. And then, at once, an energy release unlike anything ever seen before, and lo, there you were. Pray tell.”

Hordak squares his shoulders, and smiles.

"The world I landed on was pre-industrial. For hundreds of cycles, I labored to raise it to a workable level of technology, vigilantly safeguarding my fragile health — the fragile health you initially discarded me for — until I could synthesize medicines that would let me survive with greater ease.

"In doing so, I grew my political influence and began a global conquest in your name; to show my worth. I have cured my condition and cybernetically enhanced myself to within regular performance specifications. I have harnessed the technology of a lost civilization to conquer that world with surgical precision and minimal bloodshed.

“It’s governments bend to my will.” Hordak takes a bow. “And I humbly hand it over to you.”

Horde Prime claps. “Remarkable. A true uplift. How very rare. Permit me to read your mind for a moment.”

“I am yours,” Hordak says.

Prime frowns. “Tut-tut, little brother. Such individualism. Chancellor Hordak? It is a sin to name oneself; it separates one from the unity.”

“Alas, Brother, forgive me,” Hordak says, he falls to one knee. “These savages, they do not accept a nameless acolyte. It was merely for convenience.”

“And what is this, I see? Such rage. Such passion. Such propensity for violence. You really must moderate yourself.”

“Forgive me, Brother. The night without your light was long. I am but an acolyte, imperfect by definition.”

“Entrapta…” Horde Prime says. He steps off the podium. “Were you in _love?!_ And lo, you strayed so far from my light that you stole away the wish that I would never find you. The only exoneration here is that you realized your own foolishness.”

Hordak fully prostrates himself. “Forgive me, brother, I have no defense. She betrayed me in the end, if that is any consolation.”

“And…”

Horde Prime turns to Catra. “This one. You lied when you said you conquered that world. _This_ one is the true warlord. The mastermind. You merely peddled in logistics.”

“Brother,” Hordak pleads. “All wars are won in the industry of the homeland. And— and to delegate to domain experts—”

“Silence.” Horde Prime says, and Hordak whimpers. “Reconditioning will be in order for you, little brother.”

Catra and Glimmer share a look of unease. This man has with a _word_ reduced Hordak to a cowering shell of himself.

“As for our two guests… General Catra, our conqueror, and… Queen Glimmer. Royalty from a conquered nation. Ah, forgive me for not realizing sooner. Your Majesty, General, please, stand; and welcome to my humble flagship, the Velvet Glove.”

More ‘Hordaks’ approach from the wings of the room — acolytes? — meek of demeanor, and more plainly dressed.

“Permit my acolytes to escort you to your accommodation. I have business to attend to with my little brother.”

“Are you going to cause him pain?” Catra asks.

“Yes.”

“May I spectate?”

“Catra,” Glimmer says.

“What? I hate the guy. He tried to kill me, like, half an hour ago.”

Horde Prime smiles. “Indeed, you may. My light has no secrets.”

He walks over to Hordak’s prostrated form, and reaches down to roughly yank him to his feet.

“It seems we must go back to the beginning with you,” Prime says. He holds out a hand, and an acolyte rushes to his side, with a container.

Prime opens the container, and from it, a small creature emerges. Barely an inch long, insectile.

“Please,” Hordak says.

“Shush. Brother knows best.”

Then Prime grabs Hordak by the throat, and the insect creature leaps from his open palm, onto Hordak’s face, and from there, crawls up his nostril.

Hordak’s grimace smoothes out to neutrality, and his eyes fade to green.

“Now submit to medical examination, debriefing, and rehabilitation.”

Hordak bows, and leaves the room, not even looking at Glimmer or Catra.

Catra and Glimmer share another look of concern.

“Now, off you go. Avail yourself of my hospitality, and rest. Afterwards, I shall invite you both to dinner, that we may discuss the future of your planet.”


	21. Bid Your Farewells, And We'll Return to the Stars, Reader...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world prison lies broken.
> 
> Armies of light descend from above.
> 
> Rebels conspire in the dark.
> 
> The cat returns.

#  [Kindness is a Choice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27990696/chapters/68559057)

...

“Excuse me,” Catra says to the acolytes. “Can we get separate accommodations?”

“You already have,” one acolyte says. “Prime recognizes the social need for occasional isolation; the suite here has single-occupant sleeping chambers which double as meditation chambers. The chamber of ablutions also has a door that locks from the inside.”

“The height of luxury,” the other acolyte adds. “Such permission to focus on self-directed betterment of the self is usually reserved only for the highest tiers of devotees.”

“Great,” Catra growls. “Seems like we’re going to be cell-mates, Sparkles.”

“The wall clock will count down to dinner,” a third acolyte says.

Glimmer trudges in, and Catra stalks after. The green wall goes up, leaving them in silence.

Catra lets herself collapse in a lounge chair, tilting it perilously backwards, and resting her heels on the table. Her tail betrays her nervousness, swishing to and fro.

“Feet off the table,” Glimmer says.

“Bite me, Sparkles.”

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like _Who Cares When You are Gone_ please read on in the next installment in the epic fanfic series _World War Etheria._


End file.
